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V . 



















































THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 



1 

/ 






V 

The Unknown Seven 

A Detective Story 


BY 

HARRY COVERDALE 



CHELSEA HOUSE 
79 Seventh Avenue New York City 





r*r*> 

.Gav?o* 


Copyright, 1923 
By CHELSEA HOUSE 

The Unknown Seven 


. 



(Printed in the United States of America) 


All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign 
languages, including the Scandinavian. 


AUG -2 1923 • \< 




2^. X*5 


CONTENTS 





CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Woman in the Limousine ... 9 

II. Temptation . . . ..20 

HI. The Temptress Speaks.36 

IV. “Yellow” ..46 

V. Disguised. 58 

VI. Doctor Latham.73 

VII. Cole Receives a Warning .... 85 

VIII. The Unknown Seven.94 

IX. The Red Light.106 

X. Pursuit . 117 

XI. Behind the Locked Door.125 

XII. In Four Rounds.132 

XIII. The Morning’s Mail. .141 

XIV. Cole’s Ruse .. . 153 

XV. The Traitor Unmasked.171 

XVI. Gold.186 

XVII. In Room 2512.201 

XVIII. The Light in the Window .... 217 

XIX. A Warning.228 

vii 

















CONTENTS 


PAGE 


viii 

CHAPTER 

XX. The Veneer of Intelligence . . . 239 

XXI. The Face at the Window .... 256 

XXII. A Duel of Wits . . . . 4 . . 265 

XXIII. The Seventh Ingredient.271 

XXIV. Cornered .. . 280 

XXV. Face to Face. B . 288 

XXVI. A Cry .... .. 299 

XXVII. The Way Out . ,309 

XXVIII. The Enemy Strikes . . . . B . . 314 








THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

CHAPTER I 

THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE 

CTANDING in the dark doorway of a delicatessen 
^ shop, Kingdon Cole gazed, through the fog 
and drizzle of the October night, at a second-story 
window across the street. The brim of a slouch 
hat shaded his eyes and most of his face. His 
lean figure was draped in a mackintosh that reached 
almost to his feet. The upward slant of the cigar, 
clamped between his teeth, hinted at total absorp¬ 
tion in what he saw. 

The building that claimed his attention was an 
ordinary three-story structure of murky brick. 
Flanked by a warehouse on one side and a second¬ 
hand clothing store on the other, it presented a 
sullen and gloomy aspect to the watcher across the 
street. Yet there was something in the very drab¬ 
ness of the house and the chill atmosphere which 
hung over it that might have appealed to the im¬ 
agination of a man like Kingdon Cole. 

A man’s head and shoulders were dimly silhouetted 
against the lighted window shade at which he was 
looking so fixedly. For half an hour or longer 
the figure had not stirred. The rigid poise of the 
head and the stiff set of the shoulders suggested 
that the man at the window was engaged in a 
task that occupied his whole mind. 

Cole struck a match and, holding it in his cupped 


10 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


hands, lighted his dead cigar. The flickering light 
shone for an instant on fingers that were long, 
slim, and finely tapering, the fingers of a man of 
great mental energy and a compelling personality. 

“Wonder what the learned Professor Carmody 
finds so interesting,” he mumbled. “Some scientific 
treatise, very likely, or perhaps it is-” 

He lowered his gaze, as he vaguely sensed that 
a pair of eyes was trying t b pierce the gloom in 
which he stood. What with the wet night and the 
lateness of the hour that dreary section of Bleecker 
Street was all but deserted. Now and then a cross¬ 
town car jogged along at a lumbering pace; occa¬ 
sionally a taxicab passed on its way. 

Cole looked up and down the block. The im¬ 
pression was more distinct now. Some one was 
watching him, just as he was watching the solitary 
figure in the window. His senses, sharpened by 
long training, told him he was under observation 
even before he could trace the impression to its 
source. Now he saw a limousine drawn up at the 
corner, less than twenty paces from where he stood. 
Its sides of burnt sienna gleamed in the blurred 
lights. It seemed to lend a touch of affluence to the 
squalor and dreariness of the scene. How long the 
car had been there he did not know, for the window 
across the street had claimed all his attention. 

The car began to move, crawling, snaillike and 
silent toward the point where Cole stood. It 
stopped opposite the doorway that sheltered him. 
He fancied that he saw the flicker of a face behind 
the curtains. Then the door opened a few inches,, 
and he caught a glimpse of a beckoning hand. 



THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE n 


His eyes narrowed under their puckering brows. 
The monotony of his vigil was being broken in a 
strange way, and the slow twisting of his lips sig¬ 
nified that the interruption was not altogether dis¬ 
pleasing. Once more he glanced up at the window 
across the street, noticing that the shadowy figure 
had not stirred. Then he crossed the sidewalk, and 
instantly the door of the limousine was flung wide. 

“Won’t you step in, Mr. Cole?” asked a voice. 

Though his life had inured him to surprises, 
Cole started a little. It was odd that the occupant 
of the car should address him by name. The in¬ 
terior was dark, but in the shadows he saw the 
figure of a woman. 

“You are very patient, Mr. Cole,” the voice con¬ 
tinued. “You are wasting your time, however. It 
isn’t likely that Professor Carmody will go out to¬ 
night, so you might as well jump in.” 

A sharp hunching of Cole’s shoulders registered 
surprise number two. It was all very mystifying. 
Not only did the occupant of the car know his 
name, but she seemed familiar with his business 
as well. He liked her voice, a deep soprano with a 
faintly playful undertone. For a moment he studied 
the long, slender lines of her figure, faintly dis¬ 
cernible in the dusk and melting, here and there, 
into a background of saffron-hued cushions. 

“You hesitate? I happen to know that Professor 
Carmody is in for the night and that your vigilance 
is useless.” 

Cole looked at her intently. The mist, the drizzle, 
and the blurred sheen from the street lamps seemed 


12 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

to lend a touch of unreality to what he saw and 
heard. 

“What do you know about Professor Carmody,” 
He demanded. 

“A great deal more than you do. IPs quite 
possible that I am in a position to give you some 
valuable information. At any rate my car is more 
comfortable than a dark doorway.” 

She leaned forward slightly, and there was a trace 
of mockery on her faintly parted lips. “Not afraid, 
are you, Mr. Cole?” 

He gave a low laugh at the implied dare. With 
a shrug he stepped inside the car and sat down 
beside her. She picked up the speaking tube and, 
turning her head away from Cole, said something 
which he could not hear. In an instant the car 
was in motion. 

“You seem to know a great deal,” he observed, 
trying to obtain a glimpse of her face under the 
billowing brim that shaded it. 

“And you are anxious to learn how much more 
I know. Isn’t it so, Mr. Cole? It was neither: 
vulgar curiosity nor adventurousness that prompted 
you to accept my invitation to ride with me. You 
accepted only because you hoped to learn something. 
Having heard me speak your name and mention 
Professor Carmody you naturally thought it might 
be profitable to cultivate my acquaintance.” 

“Perhaps so,” said Cole dryly. “What do you 
know about me aside from my name and my interest 
in the estimable professor?” 

“A great deal,” was the surprisingly prompt reply. 
“You are a student of criminology, a follower in the 


THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE 13 

footsteps of Lombroso, Pinel, and Prichard, though 
you by no means accept their theories. You have 
yvritten two books on crime and criminals. They 
are too scientific for the general reader, I have 
been told, but experts on the subject regard them 
as authoritative. Perhaps some day I shall try to 
read them.” 

“I fear you won’t find them very interesting,” 
replied Cole. “What else?” 

“You live in a small apartment in Gramercy 
Park, which also serves as your office. Two years 
ago you did a very brilliant piece of work on the 
Wilmerding murder case, though you magnani¬ 
mously, or for reasons of your own, let the police 
claim the credit for the results. You follow crimi¬ 
nal investigations largely as a scientific pursuit. If 
you cared to devote all your time to it you could 
make a great success, but you accept only such cases 
as happen to interest you personally. As a result 
you lead a quiet and somewhat precarious existence, 
deriving your sole pleasure from your work and 
such inexpensive amusements as books, music, and, 
on rare occasions, the theater.” 

“You seem to have taken considerable pains look¬ 
ing me up,” he remarked. 

“Oh, I haven’t told you all I know yet. I have 
learned a number of things about your private life 
and personal habits, but we needn’t go into those 
things now.” 

“Are you equally well informed in regard to 
Professor Carmody?” 

“Not quite. The professor is a riddle. To all 
outward appearances he is interested in nothing but 


14 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


his experiments and his musty old books. He 
seems to be living in that kind of neighborhood 
by preference, because he isn’t so apt to be bothered 
by meddling neighbors. His house is said to con¬ 
tain one of the best-equipped laboratories of its 
kind in the world. That’s only a rumor, of course. 
The professor doesn’t encourage visitors. To the 
few people who have talked with him he is what 
the novelists call a man of mystery. He comes 
and goes without speaking to any one, and his life 
is a closed book. As far as I know, only one 
person has been inside his house in a year, and 
that person never came out.” 

“Oh, you know that!” 

“Yes, I am one of the very few who are aware 
of the fact. Let me see, it’s about three weeks 
since Malcolm Reeves disappeared. His relatives, 
your clients, in other words, have reason to believe 
that he visited Professor Carmody on the night of 
his disappearance. No wonder the case fascinates 
you, Mr. Cole. Disappearances are always interest¬ 
ing, but especially so when a mysterious person like 
Professor Carmody is involved.” 

Cole regarded her in frank amazement, but her 
head was now slightly bowed, and all he could see 
of her face was the curve of the chin. 

“The relatives did well to put the case in your 
hands,” she went on. “You are both capable and 
discreet and, as I presume you know, there were 
excellent reasons for not reporting Reeves’ disap¬ 
pearance to the police. Are you making satisfactory 
progress ?” 

“My clients seem satisfied.” 


THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE 15 


‘‘You have not yet paid the professor a visit ?” 

‘‘What would be the use?” 

“You are right, of course. It would only put 
him on his guard. You prefer not to let him know 
that he is under suspicion.” She laughed gently, as 
if amused at something. “Besides, it is doubtful 
whether a search of Carmody’s house would reveal 
any clews to Reeves’ fate. The professor is a 
chemist, and I understand there are certain chemical 
processes by which bodies can be made to disappear 
completely, leaving no trace.” 

“Then you think Reeves has been murdered?” 

“Don’t you?” she asked quickly. 

Cole smiled. Instead of answering the question 
He asked another. “How can you be so sure that 
Carmody will not leave his house to-night?” 

“Because he has the best of reasons for staying 
in.” 

“What are they?” 

“One is that his engagement for to-night was 
canceled by telephone at four o’clock this after¬ 
noon.” 

Cole gave her a puzzled stare. “How do you know 
that?” 

She laughed a little. “There are ways of finding 
out,” she said mysteriously. “Tapped wires, for 
instance. But the professor’s principal reason for 
staying in to-night is that he is well aware that 
you are watching him. You see, Mr. Cole, he has 
more shrewdness than you have been giving him 
credit for. And the fact that he is staying in on 
your account shows that he has great respect for; 
your ability.” 


16 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

She had raised her head a trifle, and Cole 
gave her a long, bewildered glance. He half ex¬ 
pected to see a smile on her lips, but her face was 
grave. 

/‘Are you one of Reeves* relatives?** he asked 
abruptly. 

“Oh, no!’* 

“Then how-” 

“I have certain sources of information. Sources 
so vast that you would be staggered if I were to 
tell you of them. Please don’t look at me like that. 
I am not insane, neither am I subject to hallucina¬ 
tions. The fact that I happen to know more about 
the Carmody case than you do is no reflection on 
your ability as an investigator. It merely shows 
that your equipment is inadequate. Care to hear 
more?” 

“What else do you know?” 

“I know that the case you are working on is only 
one minor angle of a vast mystery. The disap¬ 
pearance of Malcolm Reeves is nothing but an in¬ 
cident. Reeves himself was only an insignificant 
puppet in one of the greatest games ever played. 
All you have seen so far is one of the minor threads 
in the woof. I am always mixing my metaphors, 
but I know you won’t mind. Mr. Cole, this affair 
has ramifications that may some day rock the whole 
continent.” 


“I feel considerably shaken up already,” admitted 
Cole. ‘ You realize, of course, that you are using 
strong words ?” 

"No stronger than the situation demands.” 


THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE 17 

“If it is as bad as all that why doesn’t somebody 
put a stop to it?” 

“Because-” She checked herself and regarded 

him intently. “Well, because the man who is big 
enough for the task has not yet been found.” 

Again Cole cast a glance at the window. The 
car had made several turns in the last few minutes. 
He caught only a blurred view of his surroundings, 
but he thought they were traversing one of the 
cavernlike streets near the southern tip of Man¬ 
hattan Island. 

“Have you heard enough?” she asked. 

“Just enough to give me an appetite for more.” 

“In that case you must trust me implicitly and 
obey me without questions. I am taking desperate 
chances in confiding in you, Mr. Cole, and certain 
precautions are absolutely necessary. Will you 
promise me on your honor that you will not try 
to ascertain the location of the place I shall take 
you to?” 

Cole considered. There was a flavor of mystery 
about the adventure that appealed to him, but the 
prospect of learning something more about the 
Carmody case was an even greater temptation. 
From what little the woman had so far told him 
he surmised that she must have unusual sources of 
information. Much that she had said coincided 
with what he already knew, so he had no cause to 
doubt her truthfulness. 

“You have my promise,” he told her. 

The car made another turn, swung down a dark 
block, then veered again to the south. Cole caught 
a hazy glimpse of dark, towering skyscrapers. 



18 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

The woman looked at him fixedly, as if in doubt. 
“I believe you are a man of your word, Mr. Cole, 
but promises are sometimes broken in spite of the 
best intentions. Please don’t be offended.” 

She produced a scarf and with a deft touch cov¬ 
ered his eyes, securing the bandage with a firm 
knot at the back. Cole chuckled amusedly. He 
might be walking into a trap, but it would not be 
the first time, and he had great confidence in his 
ability to take care of himself in any situation that 
might come up. 

After continuing its zigzagging course a few min¬ 
utes longer the car stopped. His mysterious con¬ 
ductress touched his arm as they stepped out. She 
guided him across the sidewalk and up a few stone 
steps, and then they traversed what appeared to be 
a long corridor. Finally Cole found himself in a 
narrow inclosure which he guessed to be an elevator. 

“We are in one of the tallest office buildings in 
New York,” the woman whispered in his ear, “but 
you’re not likely to guess its name.” 

The door clanked shut, and the cage shot swiftly 
upward. Cole felt a rush of wind in his ears. He 
maintained a languid composure, but inwardly he 
marveled. A modern skyscraper was the last place 
he would have expected the woman to take him to. 
He tried to estimate the number of floors they were 
passing. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty- 

Still the cage darted upward, and then it stopped 
so suddenly that he caught his breath sharply. They 
stepped out, and the girl removed the scarf from 
his eyes. He gazed around him bewilderedly. All 
about him, with the exception of a single elevator 



THE WOMAN IN THE LIMOUSINE 19 


shaft was a vast expanse of blank wall. There 
was no sign of doors or windows, and the only 
illumination was a small electric bulb in the ceiling. 

“We came up in a private elevator,’’ the woman 
explained. “This is the top floor. To the public 
at large and to most of the tenants of the building 
it practically does not exist. This way, Mr Cole.” 

She stepped to one of the corners of the tri¬ 
angular space, of which the elevator shaft formedi 
the center, and Cole followed. In the dim light 
he could not see exactly what happened, but the 
woman’s hand went out and then a narrow portion 
of the wall slid back. Thep stepped through an 
aperture, and instantly the opening closed behind 
them. They were in a long corridor with doors 
on each side. 

“Surprised?” she asked, starting to lead him down 
the hall. 

“Rather. Never expected to find such mysterious 
contrivances in a modern office building.” 

Her only reply was a low laugh. The floor of 
the corridor was luxuriously carpeted; the doors 
on either side had a solid appearance. Cole’s amaze¬ 
ment grew. He wondered what was beyond the 
massive doors and what was the nature of this 
establishment that was hidden behind blank walls. 
He had little time for speculation, for his com¬ 
panion opened a door and bade him enter. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Cole,” she murmured when she 
had switched on the light. “I shall be back directly.” 

The door closed, and she was gone. Alone, Cole 
looked about him, and his eyes opened wide in 
astonishment. 


CHAPTER II 


TEMPTATION 

F OR a moment Cole forgot that he was in a 
building devoted to the pursuits of commerce. 
The room in which he stood, bordered by walls 
of paneled walnut, was worthy of a Fifth Avenue 
mansion. It struck him as a bit grotesque. From 
an elevator he had stepped, through a blank wall, 
into a magnificence that fairly dazzled him. It was 
like an “Arabian Nights” adventure. As he looked 
about him he saw quiet elegance everywhere, with¬ 
out a taint of showiness. For some time he stood 
lost in admiration, then he noticed that the room 
had no windows. A moment later he discovered 
that the door was locked on the outside. Despite 
the splendor that surrounded him he was virtually 
a prisoner. 

He sat down and smoked a cigarette, waiting for 
his strange conductress to return. Evidently the 
walls were solidly built, for no sounds reached him. 
The air was fresh and pure despite the absence of 
windows, hinting that there was a concealed venti¬ 
lator somewhere in the room. 

The armchair was comfortable, and he stretched 
out his lean figure, slightly short of six feet. The 
man suggested mental force rather than bodily 
strength, but a great surprise awaited any antagonist 
who underestimated Cole's physical prowess. He 
was far stronger than the average man, and his 


TEMPTATION 


21 


endurance was phenomenal. His gray eyes, with ai 
faint humorous twinkle in their depths, were fixed 
on the door. His dark face, slightly lined about 
the mouth and the outer corner of the eyes, bore 
a look of mild expectancy. In moments of repose 
he looked as though he had not a care in the world. 
His friends often wondered how he managed to 
maintain the freshness and sparkle suggestive of a 
recent needle shower. Perhaps it was because he 
was thoroughly in love with his work and had 
earned to shake off the minor frets and irritations 
of life. 

In the midst of his musings the door opened, 
and he stared rather rudely at the vision that en¬ 
tered. It was the woman, and she had undergone 
an amazing transformation since he last saw her. 
He wondered whether the shimmering gown she 
wore had been designed by Poiret himself. Its deli¬ 
cate rose color afforded a charming contrast to her 
complexion, a sort of luminous white that somehow 
escaped being pale. Standing there, with a faint 
smile on her lips, her face fringed by an aureole 
of fine-spun gold, she was easily the most bewitching 
woman Cole had ever seen. 

He rose, bowed, and gazed appreciatively at the 
simple, but strikingly effective, ornament she wore 
at her throat. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting/’ she murmured. 
“Sit down, please, and smoke as much as you like. 
I want to talk with you.” 

Cole sat down. He wondered if she had arrayed 
herself like this for the sole purpose of having a 
talk with him. 


22 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“You promised to tell me something more about 
the Carmody case,” he reminded her. “I suppose 
you brought me to this charming place so that we 
might have a quiet talk without danger of interrup¬ 
tion or eavesdropping.” 

She sat down a short distance from him. By 
degrees the smile faded from her lips. A curiously 
solemn expression crept into her face. “Haven’t I 
told you enough, Mr. Cole?” 

“What little you told me was only a provocation. 
It gave me a taste for more. By the way, you 
have the advantage over me. Won’t you tell me 
your name?” 

“You may call me Miss Brown.” 

“The name doesn’t fit you,” he objected. 

“Names never do fit. That’s one of the ironies 
of existence. For the present, until we know each 
other better, it will have to be Miss Brown. I had 
to tell you a little about the Carmody case in order 
to get your attention. I hope I convinced you that 
it is quite useless for you to continue at work on 
a case that is so enormous in scope and presents 
such insuperable difficulties, Mr. Cole.” A pleading 
note Fad come into her voice. “Can anything per¬ 
suade you to drop the Carmody case?” 

She bent forward a little. With hands clasped 
across her knee, she studied him intently, and Cole 
looked into the deepest, bluest eyes he had ever 
seen. 

“Drop the Carmody case!” he exclaimed. 

“You must drop it, Mr. Cole! If you knew 
more about it, what terrible things you are going 
up against, you would willingly drop it without 


TEMPTATION 


23 


further argument. You would recognize your utter 
helplessness in the matter, not to mention a number 
of other things.” 

Cole was momentarily speechless. He found him¬ 
self strangely impressed by her big, sorcerous eyes, 
full of mute pleading and entreaty. 

“I don’t understand. You don’t realize what you 
are saying. Why should I drop the case?” 

“Because of the things I have told you.” 

Cole laughed. “They are only an added incentive 
for me to go on with it.” 

She drew a long breath. “That’s your man’s way 
of looking at things. The greater the dangers and 
difficulties the more determined you are to forge 
ahead. You don’t stop to consider the price, or 
estimate the cost. The wreckage you scatter about 
you means nothing to you. All you think of is 
the gratification of your boundless ambition. Mr. 
Cole, won’t you forgo your foolish pride and do 
what I ask ?” 

Her eyes held him despite his will. There was 
a look of terror in their depths that exerted a subtle 
appeal upon him. He got to his feet and tried 
to shake off the fascination of her beauty and her 
magnetic personality. 

“Impossible,” he declared. “If you brought me 
here in the hope of inducing me to drop the Car- 
mody case, your time and effort are wasted.” 

“Please, Mr. Cole! Forget that you ever heard 
of this terrible case. Tell your clients in the morn¬ 
ing that you will have nothing further to do 
with it.” 

“That wouldn’t alter matters. They would 


24 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

promptly accept my resignation and engage somebody 
else.” 

‘‘There is only oue Kingdon Cole.” 

“That’s a very neat compliment, but it won’t bear 
analysis. I haven’t accomplished anything very 
wonderful, and another man could finish what I 
have begun.” 

She was silent for a time, her big, luminous eyes 
regarding him imploringly. “If you won’t drop 
the case for your own sake, because of the terrible 
dangers involved, then I beg you to do so for 
my sake.” 

“For your sake? Really, Miss—er—Brown, I 
don’t understand. What is your interest in the 
Carmody case?” 

She stepped up and clutched his hand. The 
touch of her fingers sent a thrill through him. Her 
eyes were moist, and the curve beneath her throat 
rose and fell with accelerated rhythm. “Yes, for 
my sake. I can’t explain, except to say that awful 
things will happen to me if you go on. Death 
would be as nothing in comparison. Doesn’t a 
woman’s soul mean anything to you, Mr. Cole?” 

Cole looked down into her eyes, while her fingers 
spasmodically clutched his hand. Far into their 
blue depths he gazed, and suddenly his face un¬ 
derwent a change. His lips curled a trifle, and a 
hard glint came into his eyes. Somewhat roughly 
he released his hand. 

“Very touching,” he dryly remarked, “but I 
don’t see the connection between the Carmody case 
and a woman’s soul.” 

She drew back with a little sob of bafflement. 


TEMPTATION 


25 


“If you meant your own soul, Miss Brown, you 
mentioned something that doesn’t exist,” he went 
on sarcastically. “Trickery and pretense are poor 
substitutes for soul.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He shrugged disgustedly. “Your acting is superb, 
but it don’t bear close inspection. You were splen¬ 
did at a little distance. Despite the fact that I 
am the only Kingdon Cole, as you so charmingly 
phrased it, I am rather susceptible to the tears of a 
beautiful woman. With your sobs and your love¬ 
liness you could have melted a stone, if such a 
feat were possible. As soon as I got a close view 
of you, however, I knew you were only shamming. 
Your eyes gave you away when you sprung that 
choice line about a woman’s soul. Perhaps you 
realized you were laying the pathos on too thick. 
Anyway the illusion is shattered, and all that re¬ 
mains is the gorgeous gown you are wearing. It is 
really stunning.” 

“Thank you,” she said coldly, dropping the role 
she had been playing, as easily as she would a 
wrap. “No doubt I should have known better 
than to try such methods on you.” 

“Yes, you should,” said Cole. “For, despite the 
little slip you made, I believe that you are really 
a very clever woman. Now that we are off the 
subject of women’s souls won’t you tell me your 
real reason for wishing to throw up the Carmody 
case ?” 

She shook her head, but he thought he detected 
a gleam of unwilling admiration in her eyes. Mo¬ 
tioning him to follow, she stepped to the door and 


26 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


opened it, then preceded him down the hall. Cole 
guessed that his little adventure was over, and he 
felt a twinge of disappointment at the thought that, 
in all probability, he would never learn the meaning 
of her puzzling behavior. No doubt she would try 
to blindfold him again before conducting him away 
from the place, and he was prepared to raise strenu¬ 
ous objections. 

But it appeared Miss Brown was not yet ready 
to let him go. She stopped before one of the 
massive doors that had already excited his curiosity, 
and knocked twice. It opened quickly and noise¬ 
lessly. In a moment, before he realized what he 
was doing, Cole was inside, and the door closed 
at his back. 

The room was so dimly lighted that at first he 
could distinguish nothing but bare, gloomy walls. 
Miss Brown, who had followed him into the room, 
hastened forward and seemed to melt away in the 
dusk, leaving him to wonder what new turn his 
adventure was taking. Gradually, as his eyes grew 
accustomed to the gloom, he was able to see ob¬ 
jects with some degree of clearness. He was in a 
long, narrow room, and what he saw was in keep¬ 
ing with the other strange things that he had wit¬ 
nessed and experienced in this surprising establish¬ 
ment. 

A number of shadowy figures were seated around 
a circular table in the center of the room. He 
counted seven of them, and at first he had a 
ludicrous impression that there were only blank 
spaces where their faces should have been. Then, 
as his pupils continued to respond to the strain im- 



TEMPTATION 


27 


posed by the dim light, he saw that each man wore 
a mask. It was only a strip 'of cloth, with tiny 
slits over the eyes, but in the dusk it was the only 
covering that was needed to make recognition im¬ 
possible. 

Again Cole w^s struck with a sense of unreality. 
The men, sitting stiffly erect in their chairs, caused 
him to wonder whether he was in the midst of 
some ghostly seance. He felt their eyes search¬ 
ing him through the vents in the masks. The gloom 
and the silence gave an added illusory touch to the 
scene. Cole had to shake himself before he could 
realize that he was on the top floor of a modern 
skyscraper. 

Miss Brown stepped behind one of the chairs 
and held a brief whispered conversation with its 
occupant. The latter nodded, and the girl slipped 
away toward the door. A moment later it closed 
behind her, and the man, with whom she had been 
talking, indicated that Cole was to step forward. 
With a shrug he complied, and the masked faces 
stirred slightly as he approached. For a full min¬ 
ute nothing was said, and again he felt the sharp 
and steady scrutiny of seven pairs of eyes. Finally 
the man who had beckoned him spoke. “Mr. Cole, 
how much will you take to drop the Carmody case?” 

Cole could not help but laugh. The words, spoken 
yrfth a directness and a matter-of-factness that left 
nothing to the imagination, had shattered the illu¬ 
sion completely. In an instant the spell of unreality 
was broken. He knew he was dealing with practical 
men who were in the habit of reducing everything 
to terms of dollars and cents. A blunt reply came 


28 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


to his lips, but his desire to learn more of these 
strange men caused him to hold it back. 

“Suppose we put all the cards on the table,” he sug¬ 
gested. “I don’t like to talk business in the dark. 
Who are you, and what is your objection to my 
connection with the Carmody case?” 

“We are not here to answer questions,” declared 
the one who seemed to be acting as spokesman for 
the others. “All I care to say is that, because of 
a peculiar combination of circumstances, it is to our 
advantage to pay you liberally for withdrawing 
from the case. What’s your price, Mr. Cole?” 

Under ordinary circumstances, Cole would have 
been indignant at this cool assumption that every 
man has his price, but now his dominant emotion 
was curiosity. He could not understand why they 
seemed so intent upon persuading him to sever his 
connection with the affair, but what Miss Brown 
had said about the vast ramifications of the Carmody 
case suggested that they had ample reasons for what 
they were doing. 

“Let me get this straight,” he said evenly. “You 
are willing to pay me my price for withdrawing 
from the Carmody case. Are there any strings to 
the proposition?” 

The other chuckled dryly. “I wouldn’t call them 
strings, exactly. They are only gossamer threads. 
In addition to retiring from the case you are to 
give us a full and veracious report of what you have 
discovered to date in connection with the disappear¬ 
ance of Malcolm Reeves.” 

“I see,” said Cole. “Anything else?” 

“Just one thing more. In addition to withdraw- 


TEMPTATION 


29 


ing from your present connection with the case and 
turning the information you possess over to us, 
you are to come over to our side and put your 
ability at our disposal. We are ready to pay you 
handsomely for your services, either on a contingent 
basis, or in the form of a weekly salary.” 

“Very generous,” decared Cole, with a faint trace 
of sarcasm. “Your proposition is that, for a con¬ 
sideration, I am to betray my present clients 
and-” 

“Betray is a harsh word,” objected the spokesman 
for the group. 

“Truthful terms are usually harsh,” Cole re¬ 
marked. “Let’s not quibble over words. In addi¬ 
tion to the amount, which you are willing to pay 
me for betraying my clients, you offer to reward 
me liberally for certain services that you require. 
May I ask what they are?” 

“You will learn soon enough if you accept our 
proposition. Let me state that we have unlimited 
funds at our disposal and stand ready to pay you 
well. It would be no exaggeration to say that in a 
short time you should be a rich man if you accept 
our offer. In view of our liberality don’t you think 
it behooves you to be less squeamish and ask fewer 
questions ?” 

“I suppose it is in deucedly bad taste for me to 
argue with a man who offers me a fortune on a 
silver platter,” Cole admitted. “Just the same I 
can’t help wondering why you are offering such a 
glittering bribe to one who is practically unknown 
in his profession.” 

The man gave an amused chuckle. “Don’t worry 


30 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


1 


about that, Mr. Cole. We are not in the habit of 
buying pigs in a poke. You have been under obser¬ 
vation for some time.” 

“So I gathered from what the bewitching Miss— 
Brown told me.” 

“We have learned that you have a great deal of 
ability. You are fearless and persevering. You 
have qualities that the average professional detec¬ 
tive sadly lacks, such as tact, polish, and a magnetic 
personality. In short, you are precisely the kind 
of man we need. We have reason to believe that 
you have discovered certain interesting facts in con¬ 
nection with Malcolm Reeves , disappearance, facts 
which would naturally become our property if you 
came over to our side.” 

Cole marveled at the extent of the man’s knowl¬ 
edge. It was true that he had picked up several 
stray facts which, when considered in conjunction 
with the known circumstances of Reeves’ disappear¬ 
ance, made a fairly interesting showing. His glance 
wandered over the circle of veiled faces. Each of 
the seven men was watching him intently through the 
slits in his mask. 

“We are waiting for your decision, Mr. Cole,” 
remarked the spokesman after a pause. “If our 
proposition appeals to you, name your price.” 

Cole pretended to hesitate. He hoped to learn 
a little more before he closed the interview. He 
wondered how far these men would go in their 
efforts to induce him to betray his clients and 
transfer his allegiance to themselves. “Aren’t you 
forgetting something?” he asked. “Do you realize 


TEMPTATION 


3 i 

that a man who has been bought once will probably 
sell himself again ?” 

Though he could not see, he fancied the spokes¬ 
man’s eyes were twinkling behind the mask. 

“We have considered everything, Mr. Cole. You 
wouldn’t sell yourself except to a higher bidder, and 
it isn’t likely any one will outbid us. If such a situa¬ 
tion should arise, however, we would know how to 
handle it What is your price?” 

“Suppose you name the price you are willing to 
pay?” 

There was a craning of necks, and nods and sub¬ 
dued whispers passed around the circle. Evidently 
the seven construed his words as meaning that he 
was yielding. The spokesman unlocked a drawer 
in front of him and placed a small package on the 
table. 

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” he remarked im¬ 
pressively. “If you are in doubt as to the amount, 
or if you suspect that I am handing you stage 
money, you will be permitted to examine it in the 
light.” 

He handed the package to Cole. “Remember 
that this is only your retaining fee, so to speak. 
There will be lots more coming to you if you 
decide to throw in your lot with us.” 

Cole felt the crisp fiber of the bills. He did 
not doubt that the money was genuine or that the 
package contained the exact amount mentioned by 
the spokesman. Whatever else these men might do, 
he did not think they would stoop to petty cheating. 
An odd sensation surged through him as he weighed 
the currency in the palm of his hand. It was more 


3 2 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


money than had ever before come within his reach. 
Of a sudden he remembered some of the things he 
had been compelled to deny himself because of his 
slender and uncertain income. Until this moment, 
when he held the wherewithal in his hand, it had not 
occurred to him that he was missing any of the good 
things in life. He had accepted his privations, as a 
matter of course, with a smile or a shrug, according 
to his mood of the moment. 

For a few seconds longer he gave himself over 
to thrill of possession, and then he tossed the bundle 
of currency down on the table. “It isn’t enough,” 
he declared. 

A chorus of murmurs went around the circular 
table. The veiled faces strained forward a little. 
Once again Cole fancied the spokesman’s eyes were 
twinkling through the orifices in the mask. 

“Splendid, Mr. Cole,” said the man approvingly. 
“I didn’t think twenty-five thousand would satisfy 
you, but I wanted to make sure. As a matter of 
fact, if you had accepted such a paltry amount, 
we would have broken off the negotiations instantly. 
We don’t want a man who holds himself cheap. 
Here”—again he opened the drawer in front of 
him—“is another twenty-five thousand. That makes 
fifty. Quite a neat sum for a man whose income 
last year was only a trifle over four thousand.” 

“How did you know that?” 

“Income-tax reports,” said the man. 

Cole took one bundle of currency in each hand. 
He was no longer marveling at the surprising 
sources of information that seemed to be open to 
these men. For the moment all his senses were 


TEMPTATION 


33 


centered on the wealth that lay in his palms. A 
flash of self-revelation came to him, and he was 
surprised and frightened by it. He had never 
known that mere money could give him such a 
delectable sensation. In the past, as a passive on¬ 
looker, he had smiled tolerantly at other men’s 
scramble for wealth. With philosophic eyes he had 
watched the money-mad procession sweep by him. 
Now he found that the sheer touch of the currency 
sent a contagion through his veins, awakening 
strange emotions within him. 

The sensation put an indefinable fear into him, 
fear of himself and the weakness he had just dis¬ 
covered. Of a sudden the currency seemed to 
scorch his palms. He shrugged, and the spell was 
broken. With an inward paroxysm he flung the 
money down on the table. “Not even that is 
enough,” he announced in slightly dazed tones, like 
one just awakening from a dream. 

The spokesman’s head came up a little. With a 
shrug and an indistinct mutter he once more opened 
the drawer, but Cole laid a detaining hand on his 
sleeve. 

“Wait!” he said quietly. “You are going ahead 
on the idea that every man has his price. You’re 
mistaken. There isn’t money enough in the whole 
United States treasury to buy me.” 

There came a hush, and then a ripple of com¬ 
motion went around the table. It died instantly 
as the spokesman raised a silencing hand. He tilted 
his head back, and through the holes in the mask 
his eyes bored into Cole’s face. For a time not a 
sound was heard in the room. Finally the spokes- 


34 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


man gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “I see/’ he 
declared. “You’re a weakling like most men. 
You’re a slave to the absurd thing we call con¬ 
science. I had hoped that you were one of the 
rare exceptions.” 

“Wrong again,” said Cole, smiling. “It isn’t 
conscience. Anyway, I wouldn’t call it that. It 
is only pride, a foolish pride, perhaps. I want to 
go through life knowing that I can look every man 
straight in the eye and tell him to go to the devil 
if necessary. I couldn’t do that if I were to sell 
myself. I should become a despicable thing in my 
own eyes, and life wouldn’t be worth living after 
that. I don’t suppose you understand, but that’s 
just how I feel.” 

Seven pairs of eyes were leveled at Cole’s fa^e 
as his short, crisp sentences fell on the tense air. 
Then came silence, a long and oddly vibrant silence 
during which Cole experienced an unaccountable 
feeling that his life hung in the balance. He 
could neither understand it nor trace it to its source, 
but the nameless sense of danger grew more distinct 
with every moment. 

By instinct his hand went to the hip pocket in 
which he always carried a small, but reliable, pistol. 
Before his hands could touch the weapon a strange 
thing happened. The spokesman’s arm described a 
slight movement in the dusk, and in a twinkling 
utter darkness fell. Cole stood in blackness so in¬ 
tense that it seemed as though he could touch it. 

His fingers found the handle of the pistol, but in 
the next instant his hand fell to his side. In that 
impenetrable darkness the weapon was of no more 


TEMPTATION 


35 


avail than a toy. He heard a faint scraping of 
chairs, then a patter of feet. He groped for the 
chair where the spokesman had sat, but it was 
empty. Gradually the faint sounds ceased, and then 
came an engulfing silence. It was as if every mani¬ 
festation of life had been drained out of the black¬ 
ness that surrounded him. 

Silence—darkness—solitude. Cole, as he dropped 
into the spokesman’s chair, felt as if the three words 
had suddenly acquired a new and more powerful 
significance. 


CHAPTER III 


THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS 

F IVE minutes passed. Cole could no longer con¬ 
trol his restlessness. He got up from the 
chair and went gropingly across the heavily carpeted 
floor. His footsteps made scarcely a sound, and he 
had a queer sensation that the darkness and silence 
were insinuating themselves into his very pores. It 
was as if a magic spell had fallen over him. He 
could no longer trust his reason or his senses. 

He stopped short as a faint whisper went through 
the dead silence. With head thrown back and 
straining his ears, he listened. Again the whisper 
came, trailing through the blackness like a disem¬ 
bodied breath. He groped in the direction whence 
the sound came, and now he could hear it quite 
distinctly. 

“Mr. Cole!” 

Tracing the sound vibrations, he crossed the floor 
and brought up against the wall. Again his name 
was spoken, and now he had an impression that the 
speaker was only a few feet away. He thought 
he recognized the voice. 

“Mr. Coler 

His highly sensitized ears gauged and dissected 
each small fraction of a syllable. He knew he was 
not mistaken. The voice belonged to the woman 
;who had introduced herself by the absurdly inap¬ 
propriate name of Miss Brown. 


THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS 


37 


“Where are you?” he asked. He fumbled with 
his hands in the dark, but found nothing but empti¬ 
ness. He turned and ran his fingers up and down 
the wall until he encountered a metallic object im¬ 
bedded in the paneling. Again his name was called, 
and he gave a short laugh as he realized that the 
sounds were coming to him through the mouthpiece 
of a speaking tube. The touch of the cold metal 
against his fingers seemed to shatter an illusion. 
Simple though the contrivance was, it smacked of 
up-to-dateness. A sense of reality broke the spell 
which the weird events of the night had cast over 
him. 

“Hello,” he spoke into the mouthpiece. “You, 
Miss Brown?” 

A brief pause, and then her voice came to him 
in hurried tones that bespoke intense excitement. 
“Yes, Mr. Cole. I must warn you. I feel respon¬ 
sible for your predicament. Awful things will hap¬ 
pen if you persist in your headstrong course. You 
must abandon it and accept the proposition that was 
made to you. Otherwise-” 

Her voice quavered and broke. The suspended 
sentence and the words she had left unspoken im¬ 
pressed Cole grimly. He could almost see her, 
white and shuddering at the other end of the 
speaking tube. Though he knew she was a clever 
actress, there was an earnestness in her tones that 
gave him pause. 

“You mean these men will kill me unless I accept 
their vile terms?” he asked. 

“Oh, they will do worse than that! They are 
terrible men, Mr. Cole, and they are in a desperate 



THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


38 

temper. Death, a hundred deaths, would be prefer¬ 
able to the thing they intend doing. Won’t you 
come to your senses before it’s too late? Oh, 
please-” 

Cole laughed into the mouthpiece. “Compose 
yourself, Miss Brown. Don’t worry on my ac¬ 
count. I’ve been in tight corners before, and I 
always wriggled out of them somehow. I shall do 
so this time.” 

A sob sounded at the other end, and then all was 
quiet. Cole drew away from the speaking tube. It 
might have been only another bit of clever acting, 
but Miss Brown’s warning had left him in a state 
of tingling suspense. She had hinted at dire things 
that were to happen to him, and Cole tried to tell 
himself that she had only been exercising her im¬ 
agination. Such things belonged in the realm of 
romance and melodrama. It was laughable to think 
that they might happen on the top floor of a sky¬ 
scraper, located close to the world’s financial nerve 
center. The incongruity of it struck Cole as quite 
amusing. 

He chuckled, but in the next instant he sharply 
caught his breath. A sound resembling that of a 
clicking lock reached his ears. He heard nothing 
more, but he had a feeling that some one had en¬ 
tered the room, that he was no longer alone. In¬ 
stinctively he braced himself to resist an attack. 
His ears were keyed to catch the slightest sound; 
every muscle in his body had the tension of a 
cocked trigger. 

He stood with his back against the wall, all his 
senses quiveringly alert. He could neither hear 



THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS 


39 


nor see, but he knew some one was steadily ap¬ 
proaching from the farther end of the long room. 
Presently he could hear sounds of breathing, but 
the prowler’s progress was still muffled by the heavy 
carpet. Now a little thud signified that the in¬ 
truder had walked up against the circular table, so 
he could be no more than a few feet from where 
Cole stood. The fact that he could not see who it 
was that was coming toward him made the suspense 
nerve-racking. 

Suddenly he thought of matches. He searched 
his pockets, but the little case in which he usually 
carried them was empty. Somewhere in the room 
there must be an electric-light switch, but it was 
not likely he could find it in the dark. 

He peered sharply into the blackness. Now 
his ears caught a pawing sound, like that of some 
one crawling on hands and knees. He bent forward 
a little, shoulders squared, for he knew the prowler 
was only a foot or two away. Evidently he hoped 
Cole was unaware of his entrance and expected to 
take his victim by surprise. 

A fumbling .hand swept Cole’s knees, and he kicked 
out his foot with great force, foiling the attempt 
to trip him. A startled yell testified to the effective¬ 
ness of the kick, but in the next instant Cole knew 
that his adversary had risen to his feet and was 
changing his tactics. His fist struck out, but it 
landed on a body hard and firm as rock, and the 
only apparent result of the blow was a stinging 
sensation in his knuckles. He tried to strike again, 
but now his shoulders were seized in a powerful grip 


40 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

that pinned his arms to his side and rendered him 
helpless. 

His mind worked quickly, while the enormous 
.weight of his adversary bore him down. Evidently 
he was a huge man, and his arms were hard as flails. 
Even if Cole’s hands had been free, his fists would 
have made no stronger impression on the man’s 
body than on a wall of brick. Though nimbler 
and more wiry than his opponent, Cole knew he 
could not match him in brute strength and physical 
endurance. His only hope lay in releasing his arms 
and, striking at the fellow’s face, batter him into 
insensibility. 

He writhed and wriggled in the powerful em¬ 
brace of the gigantic arms, resisting the downward 
pressure till he felt as if his spine must snap. Inch 
by inch his opponent was bending him to his knees, 
and all the while his arms felt as if they were 
caught between metal springs. In vain he put 
every ounce of strength into the struggle; the moun¬ 
tainous body of his adversary was constantly forc¬ 
ing him downward. Already his knees were 
touching the floor, and his neck felt as if it were 
being gradually wrenched out of shape. 

His breath grew weak and fluttering. His heart 
pounded against his ribs like a trip hammer. In 
the blackness tiny specks whirled before his eyes. 
He knew the struggle must end soon, and the reali¬ 
zation seemed to kindle a flame within him. An 
idea shot like a flash through his reeling mind. 

Suddenly he grew limp in the sturdy arms of 
his opponent. With a grunt of satisfaction the 
latter let go his hold, and Cole lay flat and inert 


THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS 


4i 


on his back. For a few moments he drank huge 
gulps of air into his straining lungs. Then, with 
the elastic swiftness of a spring suddenly released, 
he leaped to his feet. With one hand he located 
his adversary, with the other he drove a savage 
blow straight into the man’s face. 

A short cry of pain and rage broke from the 
other’s lips. His hands fumbled at Cole’s throat 
for a strangle hold, but the merciless hammering 
of the latter’s fists drove him steadily backward. 
Whenever his fingers tightened around Cole’s wind¬ 
pipe a rain of smashing blows to nose and mouth 
forced him to relax his hold and retreat a little 
farther toward the wall. Cole, his strength electri¬ 
fied by the joy of battle, did not notice that his 
knuckles were bruised. Time and again, with a 
sureness of aim that surprised himself, he drove 
them into the other’s torn and mangled face. Al¬ 
ready a stertorous breathing told that his adversary 
was becoming groggy. Cole summoned all his 
strength for a final knock-out blow. 

He flung his arm backward, and in the same in¬ 
stant the other uttered a loud yell. Cole cut it 
short with a crashing thrust of his fist. With a 
gasp his opponent went to the floor. For a moment 
he gave himself over to the thrill of victory, but 
in the next instant he was all alertness. A faint 
click signified that the door had opened, and now 
several pairs of feet were stealing swiftly across 
the floor. 

Cole whirled around on his heels, but a stalwart 
form collided with him, nearly sweeping him off 
his feet. Another hurled himself upon him from 


42 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


behind, and a third jerked his legs from under him. 
With a sharp sense of bafflement. Cole fell headlong 
to the floor. He struck out with hands and feet, 
fighting with desperate vehemence, determined to 
inflict all the injury he could on his opponents. 

But he was outnumbered three to one, and some¬ 
thing of his strength had been spent in the earlier 
encounter. Defiantly he met the onslaught, but 
he was overpowered by numbers. Eventually they 
laid him on his back, and then his adversaries 
shackled his hands and feet with stout cord. He 
thought they were handling him with strange gentle¬ 
ness, and he wondered if they were saving him for 
another ordeal. He remembered, as he was picked 
up and carried, that Miss Brown had said some¬ 
thing about a fate worse than a hundred deaths. 

In silence the little procession passed through a 
door, and presently Cole was placed on a cot. In 
a few moments the men walked out, and once more 
he was left alone in impenetrable darkness. Not 
a word had been spoken by his captors, and he 
had not obtained a single glimpse of their faces. 
The whole episode had been enacted in silence and 
under cover of darkness. 

The door opened just as his mind was shaking 
off the numbness that had seized it when he fell. 
Some one walked up to the cot where he lay. For 
a few moments no sound was heard save the slow 
breathing of the two men. Finally the other spoke, 
and Cole recognized the voice of the one who had 
acted as spokesman for the group around the cir¬ 
cular table. 

“You're an obstinate man, Mr. Cole. We have 


THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS 


43 


made you a very flattering proposition, and you have 
seen fit to reject it. I have come to offer you one 
more chance to comply with our wishes. ,, 

“And if I refuse,” said Cole evenly, “you will 
kill me, I suppose. I am beginning to think you 
are quite capable of it.” 

“Oh, no!” The other man laughed softly. “We 
know you are not the kind of man that’s afraid 
of death. Something stronger than fear for your 
life is needed to bend you to our will. But we will 
bend you sooner or later. Make no mistake about 
that.” 

The words were spoken in a tone of calm as¬ 
surance that impressed Cole against his will. 

“How, if I may ask?” 

“By a form of persuasion that is far more 
powerful than the fear of death. After all, death 
is nothing. Only a dip into a void. A little suffer¬ 
ing, perhaps, and then nothingness. There are 
things that are far worse. Mr. Cole, did you 
ever stop to consider what your life would amount 
to if you should suddenly lose your mind?” 

“What?” Cole gave an involuntary shudder. 

“Suppose that keen mind of yours should become 
a blank. Suppose that your wonderful mental facul¬ 
ties were to desert you, that you were to become 
a leering, tottering wretch, inspiring loathing and 
horror in your fellow men. Can you picture such 
a fate, Mr. Cole? Death would be a thousand 
times more merciful, yet you would lack the in¬ 
centive to kill yourself. What could be worse?” 

Cole was silent. The darkness gave free rein to 


44 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


his imagination, and the picture he saw sent a cold 
shiver down his spine. 

“All that life means to you would be blotted 
out,” the other went on with remorseless eloquence. 
“Instead of matching your wits against a man’s 
problems, as at present, you would probably be de¬ 
voting your time to childish amusements. Imagine 
yourself placing buttons in a row and building 
houses out of blocks. You would be dragging a 
useless and broken body through life until-” 

“Stop it!” said Cole. “You’re in more danger 
of losing your mind than I am. Yours is already; 
a bit twisted, unless I’m mistaken.” 

“Don’t fool yourself. Unless you give us a 
reasonable guarantee that you will comply with our 
wishes, you will be a grimacing lunatic by morn¬ 
ing. A very simple operation on the brain will do 
it. Among those seven men whom you saw around 
the circular table is a noted surgeon. Everything, 
including the ether and the instruments, will be 
ready in a few minutes. There is still time for 
to come to your senses.” 

In the back of Cole’s mind was a hazy suspicion 
that he was dreaming, but the other’s calm and 
softly penetrating tones gave him a feeling of 
reality. 

“You wouldn’t-” he began. 

“Ah, wouldn’t we? Just wait and see. Perhaps 
I can convince you.” 

Cole heard his footfalls cross the floor, and then 
a door opened and closed. For a few minutes he 
was alone, trying to arrange in an orderly process 
the odds and ends of the night’s amazing happen- 




THE TEMPTRESS SPEAKS 


45 


ings. His mind staggered before the task, and sud¬ 
denly the door opened again. He had a vague im¬ 
pression that two men were entering, and that they 
were carrying a burden between them. They moved 
about quickly in the darkness, and now and then 
they whispered in tones so low that Cole could not 
hear them. 

A light flashed on, and in the same instant the 
door closed. After the long period of utter dark¬ 
ness, the sudden glare had a blinding effect. Cole 
blinked his eyes, but after a little he opened them 
wide in astonishment, and the sight that met them 
drew a long, trembling gasp from his lips. 

There was only one other man in the room, a 
shivering, gibbering wreck of a man whose grimac¬ 
ing features and hollow cackle sent a series of 
chill shivers through Cole’s body. For a long time 
he stared into the leering, slowly twitching face 
before he was able to realize that the wretch, 
seated a few feet from his cot, was Malcolm 
Reeves. 


CHAPTER IV 


“yellow” 

W HEN he first went to work on the case of 
Reeves’ mysterious disappearance, Cole had 
been shown several photographs of the missing 
man. Along the numerous twistings of the trail, 
he had carried with him a mental picture of a fine 
intellectual face, deep and rather somber eyes, a 
long nose, whose slenderness hinted at aristocratic 
breeding, a clean-cut jaw that denoted a great deal 
of aggressiveness, and lips that were a trifle too 
full and might have suggested sensuality, if the 
broad slope of the forehead had not conveyed a 
dominant impression of the student and the thinker. 
The picture in Cole’s mind had represented a man 
about fifty years old, with a virile personality and 
quiet tastes. 

The contrast between his mental image of Mal¬ 
colm Reeves and the miserable creature, now sitting 
a few feet away, was so sharp that the compari¬ 
son gave Cole a profound shock. His clothing 
hung loosely over his bony frame, and he seemed 
to have aged decades in the three weeks that had 
elapsed since his disappearance. His shoulders were 
hunched down a little, his head was bent forward, 
and the eyes stared rigidly into space, as if he 
were seeing something in the distance. His lips 
were twisted into a fixed, vacant smile that im¬ 
pressed Cole as the most hideous thing he had ever 
seen. 


'YELLOW 1 


4 7 . 


He tried to spring from the cot, momentarily 
forgetting that his arms and legs were bound. He 
sank back with a mutter of exasperation. Not 
much imagination was required to guess that the 
men who had brought about his own plight were 
also responsible for the condition of Malcolm 
Reeves. 

Again something drew his glance to the insane 
man. The revolting picture seemed to hold Cole 
with an uncanny fascination. “What’s happened?” 
he inquired, realizing a moment later that he might 
as well have addressed a wooden image. 

Reeves was still gazing fixedly at the opposite 
wall. There was a look of insane glee in his 
shrunken eyes. He bent forward a little more, 
and then his lips began to move. “Yellow,” he 
said. “Pretty yellow!” 

The soft-spoken words and the giggle that fol¬ 
lowed caused Cole to shudder. He could see that 
Reeves’ mind, or the pitiful remnant of it, was 
reveling in some childish fancy. The wreckage of 
a once splendid intellect was horrible to behold. 

“What do you see?” he asked, wondering whether 
the man was capable of any form of response. 

The other’s face brightened, but Cole thought it 
was only an external glow, a reflected light rather 
than one kindled from within. He recoiled in¬ 
wardly as another stream of giggling mirth flowed 
from the insane man’s lips. 

“Yellow,” said Reeves again. “Pretty yellow!” 

His expression became more rapt. His smile 
grew broader and deeper, but to Cole it seemed 
nothing more than a contortion of facial muscles. 



48 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


He wondered whether the two words were all 
that was left of the man’s vocabulary. He felt a 
desire to test him and see if there was not a re¬ 
maining scrap of intellect that could be aroused. 

“Listen, Mr. Reeves,” he said sharply. “When 
did you last see Professor Carmody?” 

The giggling ended in a quick intake of breath. 
Reeves’ smile faded as abruptly as if an invisible 
hand had blotted it out. Watching him intently, 
Cole could see that his question had touched a 
slumbering chord in the man’s mind. Fear and 
something akin to hate blazed in the shrunken eyes. 
It was a startling transformation, and Cole ob¬ 
served it in wonder. He had mentioned Carmody’s 
name on the spur of a vagrant impulse, wondering 
whether it would awaken a recollection in the 
debris of Reeves’ intellect. The effect was far 
beyond his expectations. 

“Carmody!” said the insane man, and each syllable 
cut like a knife through the silence. “Carmody!” 

He drew a shaking hand across his brow, and 
Cole fancied something was stirring in the dark 
corners of his mind. His face took on a strained 
look, as if he was trying to exercise the shattered 
remnants of his intellect. There was a flicker of 
returning sanity, a feeble ray of awakening reason. 

It did not last long. Reeves gave a little shudder, 
there was a trembling gleam in his eye, then the 
fatuous gr::* value back to his lips, and once more 
he mumbled in rapt tones: “Yellow. Pretty yellow!” 

Cole turned his head away with a shiver. His 
experiment had shown the hopelessness of the in¬ 
sane man’s condition, but it had also suggested 


“YELLOW 


49 


several things to Cole. A recollection of a terrifying 
nature seemed to be buried in the wreckage of 
Reeves’ mind, and evidently it had something to 
do with Professor Carmody. Cole had felt certain 
for a long time that the professor was responsible 
for the man’s disappearance, but he had not cared 
to jeopardize his case by taking action before he 
had sufficient evidence in his possession, as a pre¬ 
mature move on his part might have brought 
disastrous results. At that time he had not been 
sure whether the missing man was dead or alive. 
If still living, his safety might be endangered by 
hasty action, for Carmody would not hesitate to 
kill him if he thought it advisable. So Cole had 
waited, patiently biding his time and slowly, but 
surely, strengthening the meshes in which he hoped 
to entangle the professor. 

Now he wondered to what extent his course 
had been correct. The maniac’s startling reaction to 
the mention of Carmody’s name seemed to confirm 
at least a part of his theory. What he could not 
understand was how Reeves, granting that the 
professor was responsible for his abduction, hap¬ 
pened to be in this place of dark intrigue and 
baffling mystery. Evidently there must be a con¬ 
necting link between Professor Carmody and the 
seven masked men who had sat around the circular 
table. Likely as not they were accomplices, banded 
together for the attainment of some secret object. 
That would at least explain why the seven men 
were so determined that Cole should drop the 
Carmody case, though it explained nothing else. 

A slight sound interrupted the speculations with 


50 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


which he had tried to relieve the tension he felt. 
He turned his head a little and saw that the door 
had opened a crack. A hand was inserted through 
the narrow opening. For a moment it fumbled over 
the wall, then came a faint click, and once more 
the room was dark. Men were moving about in 
the black for a time, and then all was quiet. 
The silence seemed to indicate that Cole was alone 
in the room, but he had an indefinable feeling that 
some one was standing beside his cot. In a mo¬ 
ment his impression was confirmed. 

“Mr. Cole,” said a voice, and he recognized it 
at once, “I trust that what you have just seen 
has put you in a more reasonable frame of mind. 
Unless you comply with our wishes we shall do 
to you what we did to Malcolm Reeves.” 

Cole strained spasmodically against the cords that 
fettered his hands and feet. In the darkness his 
imagination sketched a picture of Reeves’ hideously 
grinning face. For a moment he could almost hear 
the maniac’s insane cackle. He banished the vision 
by sheer force of will. 

“There’s a great deal of finesse about your 
methods,” he ironically observed. “I guessed, of 
course, that Reeves was brought in here to serve 
as an object lesson to me. It was quite impressive.” 

“And you have reconsidered ?” asked the other 
hopefully. 

Cole lay absolutely still on his back. It was all 
he could do to exclude the disturbing pictures of 
Reeves from his mind. Whenever a glimpse of it 
came back to him he felt a weakness that put him 
in fear of himself. “Not exactly,” he managed to 




‘YELLOW’ 




say in steady tones. “I have merely been taking 
my own measure, as it were, trying to determine 
whether the loss of pride and self-respect is worse 
than the loss of one’s sanity.” 

“And what is your conclusion?” 

“I am still in doubt. There are so many ways 
of looking at the situation. For instance, one 
thing to be considered is that lost self-respect may 
be regained, while insanity is in most instances in¬ 
curable.” 

“Excellent,” murmured the other. “That’s a very 
rational way of looking at the proposition. Such 
being the case it should not be difficult for you to 
choose between the two alternatives.” 

“But it is,” protested Cole. “There is still an¬ 
other thing to be considered. Suppose I were to 
accept your terms. All I could give you would 
be my word of honor that I would live up to 
them.” 

“Quite sufficient,” the other put in. “We know 
you are not the kind of man who goes back on 
his word.” 

“Thanks,” said Cole sarcastically. “Just the 
same one’s word of honor is a rather intangible 
thing. You can’t bind me with a contract. It 
would not be legal, no matter how ingeniously 
worded, and it might incriminate yourselves. I 
am not in position to give you any pledges. You 
would have to be content with my bare promise. 
It would be sufficient in any ordinary case, but 
circumstances alter everything. I realize I am at 
the mercy of a gang of unprincipled scoundrels.” 



52 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Your epithets don’t hurt us in the least/’ re¬ 
marked the other man icily. 

“Didn’t expect they would. But don’t you see 
that, under the circumstances, I would have no 
hesitancy at all about giving you a promise that 
I didn’t intend to keep? I am not a bit quixotic, 
and I am too practical to indulge in cheap heroics. 
I have no ambition to become the hero of a tawdry 
melodrama. In order to escape a fate like the 
one you inflicted on Reeves, I would promise any¬ 
thing, and so would every other man whose head 
isn’t full of moonshine. You follow me?” 

“Perfectly. You are trying to make out that 
we have no hold over you. Your reasoning isn’t 
bad, but you forget one thing. As it happens, 
we are in a position to* <exact a pledge from you, 
one that will hold you to us for life.” 

“What is it?” 

The other gave a soft laugh. “You saw what a 
hopeless case Reeves is. There’s no reason why 
he should go on living any longer. The merciful 
thing to do is to put him out of his misery.” 

“You mean-” 

“Exactly, Mr. Cole. You are to seal the promise 
you give us by hustling Reeves off to a better 
world. We have planned it so that we will be 
able to prove that you killed him. Having in¬ 
criminated yourself to that extent, and with the 
evidence in our possession, we need have no fear 
that you will go back on your word of honor. 
And now that we thoroughly understand each other, 
I must ask you to decide promptly. Our time is 
valuable.” 



"YELLOW” 


53 


A few moments passed in silence, but to Cole 
they were like weeks. Never before in all his life 
had so many thoughts and emotions been crowded 
into such a narrow space of time. He felt weak 
and shaken when it was over, but his voice was 
clear. "My answer is no,” he declared. "If I 
were able I would give it to you in a more em¬ 
phatic manner.” 

"Sorry, Mr. Cole,” replied the other. "I won’t 
accept your decision as final, however. I trust you 
will reconsider before you become unconscious under 
the ether.” 

Wi + h that he went out, leaving an ominous silence 
behind him. Cole tore frantically at the cords 
around his wrists, but they only cut the deeper into 
his flesh. He could see no escape from the awful 
fate that awaited him. Time and again the picture 
of Reeves’ fatuously grinning. face came back to 
him, causing him to writhe in mental torment. A 
tempting voice seemed to whisper in his ear, turn¬ 
ing his thoughts into strange channels. To end a 
life that was worse than a living death appeared 
not such a dreadful thing to do. Cole himself 
would have preferred to die rather than suffer a 
fate like Reeves’. If he should ever fall into such 
a condition he would consider the man a benefactor 
who ended his misery. 

He shook himself violently. A clammy perspira¬ 
tion was bathing his forehead. With a mental and 
physical paroxysm he brushed away the temptation 
to which he had nearly yielded a moment ago. 
Footsteps were approaching the door, and he knew 
a critical moment was at hand. Something within 



54 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


him that was stronger than reason and logic shrank 
from the mere thought of taking Reeves’ life. He 
wondered if there was no other alternative. 

He tried to take a calm view of the situation. 
Though his hands and feet were tightly bound his 
persecutors evidently had not thought it necessary 
to strap him to the cot, since he would soon be 
under the influence of the ether. By experimenting 
he found that he could turn over on his sides and, 
thanks to the fact that his hands had been tied 
in front instead of behind, he was able to move 
his arms up and down and in a horizontal direction. 
Since he could not use his hands he did not see 
how he could turn this circumstance to his ad¬ 
vantage, yet it continued to tantalize his imagination. 

The door opened, and his ears told him that 
several men were entering the room. For a time 
they moved about in the darkness, as if making 
preparations of some sort. After a little the foot¬ 
steps receded, and then the door opened and closed 
once more. Cole guessed that all but one or two 
of the men had withdrawn. After another brief 
delay, the lights flashed on once more, this time 
illuminating a different scene. 

Reeves was back in the room, occupying the same 
chair in which he had sat the other time, but now 
his limbs were as tightly manacled as Cole’s own. 
He moved his head slowly from side to side, as 
if sensing something unusual in the air, but his 
vacant stare showed that he had not the faintest 
inkling of what was going on. 

After a glance at him, Cole looked away. Not 
far from the cot stood a tall man with a black 


“YELLOW” 


55 


beard that covered nearly his entire face. He was 
holding a number of surgical implements to the 
light, giving each one a critical inspection before 
he placed it on a small table with a glass top that 
stood beside the cot. Cole could not restrain a 
shudder as he saw how calmly the man examined 
the sinister-looking little tools. There was a pro¬ 
fessional air about him that in Cole’s mind stamped 
him as a surgeon. 

Again his glance moved to the insane man, 
whose dull gaze seemed to be taking in each detail 
of the scene. The meaning of the little knives 
and the presence of the black-bearded man was ter¬ 
rifyingly clear. 

The surgeon placed the last of the knives on 
the table beside the cot. They lay there in plain 
view, so close to Cole that if his hands had been 
free he could have reached out and touched them. 
The long, slender metal blades gleamed diabolically 
in the electric lights, and he wondered if they had 
been placed like that for the sole purpose of im¬ 
pressing their hideous significance upon him. 

The black-bearded man came closer to the cot, 
and Cole caught a full view of his face. He had 
seen it once before, though only dimly, for the 
surgeon was one of the seven who had sat in the 
dusk at the circular table. He had wwn a mask 
then, but the black beard, the high forehead and 
the bald spot on top of his head were unmistakable. 
Now his features were unveiled, and in this circum¬ 
stance Cole saw a grim significance. The surgeon 
no longer had any reason to fear that Cole might 
recognize him if they should meet again. 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


56 

He stopped beside the glass-topped table and, 
with hands clasped at his back, fixed a tranquil 
gaze on the reclining man. “You have one more 
chance, Mr. Cole,” he remarked in a casual tone. 
“Hadn’t you better reconsider your refusal?” 

Cole looked up into the bearded face with a feel¬ 
ing that there was something peculiar about it, but 
his mind was too agitated to analyze the impression. 
In a playful manner the surgeon picked up one of 
the knives, holding it so that the light flashed against 
the keen blade. 

Cole was trying to frame an answer, but just 
then something drew his gaze to the insane man. 
Reeves was straining forward in his chair, bending 
his weight against the fettering cords. From where 
he sat he had a clear view of both Cole and the 
surgeon, and his eyes were fixed with wild intensity 
on the knife in the latter’s hand. Time and again 
he opened his lips, but the only sound that came 
was a hoarse rattle in his throat. 

“Well, Mr. Cole?” 

The surgeon, paying no attention to the lunatic, 
looked impatiently at Cole. Reeves, with mouth 
gaping and features horribly distorted, continued to 
stare at the knife. 

“You refuse?” The surgeon waited a moment 
longer for an answer; then, with a shrug, he re¬ 
placed the knife and stepped aside. Cole felt a 
sudden rush of blood to his head. If he was to 
escape a fate worse than death he must act at once. 
He spurred his wits to think of something to do. 
T A tinkling, like that of a jar or a bottle being moved, 
sounded in the room. Again he bent his mind to 


“YELLOW 3 


57 


the seemingly hopeless task of finding a way out, 
hut, even in this moment of desperate peril, he 
could not take his gaze from the insane man’s face. 

Reeves sat with shoulders hunched up and head 
turned a little to one side. Now and then his 
mouth twisted at the corners; from time to time 
a shudder broke the tension of his figure. A series 
of slight gurgling sounds fell on the stillness at in¬ 
tervals. All the while his eyes, with a smoldering 
something in their depths, were fixed on the knives 
spread out on the glass-topped table. 

Suddenly Cole’s body executed a little writhing 
motion. His nostrils sucked in a strong, sickening 
odor. With a sponge in his hand, the surgeon 
was coming toward the cot. 

Once more, in a delirium of suspense, Cole 
glanced at the insane man. The quick dilation of 
Reeves’ nostrils told he also had noticed the ether. 
The chair creaked as he put his weight against the 
cords. There was a look on his face that Cole 
felt would follow him through the night of madness 
that threatened to engulf him. Reeves’ chest heaved 
violently, his whole body seemed to be rocked by a 
tumultuous emotion, and finally a long and oddly 
vibrant cry broke from his lips. 


CHAPTER V 


DISGUISED 

r T" , 0 Cole’s rapt gaze the insane man presented a 
* picture at once fearful and fascinating. Reeves 
was no longer looking at the keen-bladed knives, 
but now he was staring at the black-bearded sur¬ 
geon with an intensity that seemed to strain every 
nerve and muscle in his body. The knotted cords 
at his temple swelled and took on a livid hue. 
Slowly and shakily he drew himself erect in the 
chair, and then his whole body was rocked by a 
paroxysm so violent that, for an instant, Cole 
thought the cords were about to snap. 

The surgeon, with the reeking sponge in his hand, 
turned and watched the maniac. A smile twisted 
the bearded lips, and he stepped to the chair and 
spoke a few words in Reeves’ ears. The insane 
man’s chest heaved out, but the cry and the paroxysm 
seemed to have exhausted his energies, and only a 
feeble, fluttering moan came. 

The spectacle had held Cole spellbound. Now, 
while the surgeon was leaning over the insane man 
and whispering in his ear, a sudden realization of 
his peril caused him to throw off the weird fascina¬ 
tion which the scene had cast on him. He had only 
a few moments in which to act. Soon the reeking 
sponge would be at his nostrils, deadening his men¬ 
tal faculties. 

His darting glance fell on the knives lying on the 


DISGUISED 


59 


glass-topped table beside the cot. They were so 
close to him that they seemed to mock and taunt 
him. Again it occurred to him that they had been 
placed like that for the sole purpose of impressing 
their infernal purpose upon him and battering down 
his fortitude. It had been a touch of refined cruelty 
on the black-bearded man’s part, but it only 
strengthened Cole’s determination not to yield. 

Suddenly, as he kept looking at the knives, the 
gleam of an inspiration crept into his narrowing 
eyes. He cast a swift glance about the room. The 
black-bearded man was still occupied with Reeves 
and stood with his back turned to the cot. Cole, 
trembling with excitement, turned over on his side 
and wriggled as close to the edge of the cot as he 
could. He reached out his manacled hands over 
the glass-topped table. The cords around the wrists 
gave the fingers considerable leeway. In an instant 
they had closed around the handle of the nearest 
knife. 

Cole tingled from head to foot. The subtle bit of 
strategy by which the black-bearded man had hoped 
to shatter his victim’s nerve had now been turned 
to Cole’s advantage. It gave him a fighting chance, 
though the odds were still overwhelmingly against 
him. His lips curled a little, and there was a 
belligerent sparkle in his eyes. Turning over on his 
back he dropped the knife beside him on the pillow, 
so that his head would temporarily screen it from 
the surgeon’s sight. Then, letting his arms fall 
limply back against his abdomen, he waited for the 
surgeon to act. 

Presently the black-bearded man turned away 


6o 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


from Reeves and stepped up to the cot. Cole lay 
motionless, with eyes half closed, as if partly dazed 
by contemplation of the terrible fate that awaited 
him. Inwardly he was straining and quivering with 
suspense. As yet the surgeon did not seem to have 
noticed that one of the knives was missing from the 
table, but he might do so any moment, and then 
Cole's only hope would be gone. 

“Well, Mr. Cole?" he asked lightly. “For the 
last time I ask you to reconsider your refusal." 

Cole lay very still. The last few minutes of 
suspense seemed to have wrought a great change in 
him. His lips moved as if he were trying to speak, 
but was too weak to use his voice. 

The surgeon grinned into his beard. Evidently 
he thought the knives placed so close to his victim’s 
side had exerted the intended psychological effect. 

“Have you anything to say?" he asked, bending 
over the cot in an effort to catch Cole’s faintly 
mumbled words. 

Cole flexed his muscles for action. The moment 
for which he had waited was at hand. His chance 
had come; everything depended upon how he used 
it. He mumbled again, and the surgeon’s head came 
a little closer to his chest. 

“A little louder, please," said the black-bearded 
man. 

Slowly, by imperceptible degrees, Cole drew up 
his manacled hands toward his chin. Suddenly his 
arms shot upward, forming a circular loop that 
instantly descended over the surgeon’s head. With 
a startled cry the black-bearded man tried to draw 
back, but the arms that encircled his shoulders 


DISGUISED 


61 


were as strong and hard as springs of steel. He 
struggled frantically, but the encircling grip pinned 
his arms tightly to his sides, and his head was 
constantly being forced lower and lower toward 
the reclining man’s chest. The sponge had dropped 
from his hand the moment Cole’s arms were flung 
around his neck. 

An exultant thrill went through Cole as the other’s 
resistance grew feebler. Now the surgeon’s head 
was almost level with his face. The only sounds 
in the room were the hard panting of the adversaries 
and an occasional giggle from the insane man. 
Fumes of ether were slowly filling the air. 

Cole turned his head. In an instant the handle 
of the knife was firmly gripped between his strong, 
even teeth. He thrust out his jaw, and the point of 
the weapon grazed the black-bearded man’s throat. 
Cole saw a look of fear creep into the man’s eyes. 
The surgeon made a final attempt to wriggle free, 
but Cole’s arms held him as in a vise. Once more 
the knife, tightly clasped between Cole’s jaws, 
scratched the other’s flesh. He remarked again 
the look of terror that was stamped on the sur¬ 
geon’s face. In view of the diabolical fate which 
the man had meant to inflict on him Cole was 
human enough to enjoy the other’s agony. 

Suddenly he bent a sharper look on the man’s 
face. Once before he had wondered why there 
seemed to be something peculiar about it, but this 
was his first chance to examine the features at 
close quarters. Now he noticed that the beard 
which covered most of the face had an unnatural 
appearance. There were lines about the eyes that 


62 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


did not seem quite genuine, and the exposed por¬ 
tions of the skin had an odd coloring. Obviously 
the man was disguised, and Cole could see that it 
had been rather cleverly done. He wondered why 
the disguise had been put on, since the surgeon had 
had every reason to expect that Cole would leave 
the room a raving lunatic and that there would be 
no danger of recognition if they should meet again. 

He had not time to think further about it. The 
deadlock was only temporary; any fortuitous in¬ 
cident might upset Cole’s advantage; instantly the 
door might open and admit one or more of the 
other members of the gang. Just now he had the 
surgeon at his mercy. Only a little slash with the 
knife, clamped between his teeth was needed to 
open an artery, but that would not release him from 
his predicament. Though he might be able to sever 
the cords around his ankles he could not move his 
hands with sufficient freedom to cut the strings 
around his wrists. While he was casting about for 
a plan a muffled groan of fright and pain broke 
from the surgeon’s lips. Unconsciously Cole had 
once more scratched the man’s throat with the 
knife. 

“You’re killing me!” protested the other man in 
a feeble voice. 

“It would serve you right,” declared Cole un¬ 
feelingly. “I don’t know why I should have any 
compunction about killing a rat of your kind. We 
might come to some arrangement, however. What 
will you do if I spare your life?” 

“Anything, anything you say.” 

Cole considered. The thing of first importance 


DISGUISED 


63 


was to get his hands free of the cords. In his 
present position, with his arms pinned tightly in 
Cole’s embrace the surgeon could not untie them, 
and Cole did not see how he could give the man 
any freedom of movement without imperiling his 
own advantage. 

“I am going to give you a chance for your life,” 
he said, “but if you make the slightest false move 
you die instantly. Understand that?” 

“I’ll do whatever you say.” 

“All right, then. Turn over.” 

Cole relaxed his hold a trifle, and the surgeon 
turned in his arms. The point of the knife did not 
leave his flesh for an instant, and at any moment 
Cole could have inflicted a mortal wound by merely 
thrusting his head forward. Now, with the end 
of the blade in dangerous proximity to the surgeon’s 
jugular vein, Cole gingerly released one of the 
man’s arms, then commanded him to untie the 
cords around his wrists. The black-bearded man 
obeyed, and Cole transferred the knife from, his 
mouth to his right hand. In a short time his feet 
had been released, and now he flung the surgeon 
aside and slipped from the cot. 

Reeves had watched the proceeding with a dull 
stare. Now and then a hoarse giggle of glee had 
escaped him. 

The surgeon got to his feet and drew a long 
breath of relief. His eyes, with a glint of lingering 
fear in their depths, watched Cole admiringly. 

“You’re a great scrapper, Mr. Cole,” he admitted. 
“You turned the tables with a truly artistic touch. 
For a time I was in fear for my life. There was 


64 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

no time to explain, and you wouldn’t have believed 
me anyway.” 

"Explain?” Cole asked contemptuously. The lit¬ 
tle knife was still clutched tightly in his hand. "One 
doesn’t expect explanations from curs of your type.” 

The surgeon laughed, and in the same instant 
his fingers touched a button. Cole flexed his mus¬ 
cles for another supreme test. Out of the corner 
of an eye he watched the surgeon; the other eye 
was fixed on the door. In a moment or two it 
would probably open in response to the surgeon’s 
ring, and men would come tumbling upon him 
from all directions. Cole smiled grimly. He would 
die fighting rather than expose himself to the other 
and more terrible fate from which he had just 
escaped. 

The door opened, and he poised himself, ready 
to spring forward. The nerve-racking suspense, 
which he had undergone on the cot, was forgotten 
now. His eye was clear, and his brain was rapidly 
throwing off the ether fumes that had escaped from 
the surgeon’s sponge. The hand in which he held 
the knife came upward, prepared to strike down 
the first man who should approach. 

Some one entered through the open door, and 
the arm fell limply to Cole’s side. With gaping 
mouth he stared at the newcomer who executed a 
profound bow, while he pointed to the outer room. 
"Will you kindly step this way, Mr. Cole?” he 
asked in the courteous tones of a well-trained 
servant. 

Cole laughed. The sudden reaction made him 
feel giddy. He had expected at least half a dozen 


DISGUISED 


65 


men to pounce on him when the door opened. By 
contrast there was something ludicrous about the 
salaaming figure, now confronting him. 

“If you please, Mr. Cole.” The man again 
waved his hand toward the outer room, and Cole 
obligingly followed his direction. There seemed 
to be nothing else to do than wait for the other 
side to make the next move. If he was walking 
into a trap, as appeared not at all unlikely, he 
still had the knife to defend himself with. And 
that was not all, he suddenly remembered; his 
pistol was still in his hip pocket. It was rather 
odd, he reflected, as he walked behind the servant, 
that no attempt had been made to take it from him. 

In a few moments he was back in the long 
room with the circular table. The seven masked 
men were again grouped around it, and the light 
was as dim as before. The servant ushered him 
up to the chair occupied by the spokesman, then 
silently glided away. Once more Cole felt seven 
pairs of eyes searching his face, but this time he 
was aware of a new quality in the air. 

“You may feel quite at ease, Mr. Cole,” the 
spokesman began. “I can promise that no harm will 
come to you.” 

The calm, matter-of-fact tones incensed Cole when 
he recalled by what a narrow margin he had escaped 
the fate which these men had tried to inflict upon 
him. 

“How magnanimous!” he gibingly exclaimed. 

The other chuckled. “Oh, we can understand 
that you don’t feel particularly friendly toward us. 
Incidentally we know all that happened in the 


66 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

other room. You acquitted yourself nobly, Mr. 
Cole.” 

“Save your compliments. They are on a par 
with your promises.” 

“You would naturally feel that way after what 
has happened. Mr. Cole, I am going to ask you 
to forget what occurred in the other room.” 

“Forget?” asked Cole incredulously, feeling as 
though the episode he had just passed through 
would live in his memory till his dying day. 

“Well, perhaps that is asking too much,” the 
other admitted. “By the way, your bitterness to¬ 
ward us is natural enough, but don’t you find some 
compensation in the knowledge that you have passed 
through fire unscathed? You remained true to your¬ 
self in one of the severest tests a man can be sub¬ 
jected to. Isn’t there some satisfaction for you 
in that?” 

“Oh, yes, a lot,” said Cole ironically. “It’s worth 
something to a man to know that nothing can bend 
him. If you expect me, however, to get down on 
my knees and thank you for giving me a chance 
to prove myself you are mistaken.” 

“We don’t expect anything of the kind. I am 
merely trying to point out that you have cause for 
self-congratulation as well as bitterness. You prob¬ 
ably won’t be able to forget what has happened, 
but I am going to ask you to dismiss it from your 
mind temporarily, while I make a new proposition 
to you.” 

Cole felt a trifle dazed. The effrontery of the 
man was unbelievable. For a moment he suspected 
it was all a weird jest. “Go on,” he said dryly. 


DISGUISED 67 

“Your superb insolence interests me. I am curious 
to see how far it will carry you.” 

“You shall see in a few minutes. I will begin 
by stating certain facts. Perhaps later on I shall 
be able to prove them to their satisfaction, but just 
now I must ask yc 5 u to accept them as an hypo¬ 
thesis.” 

“Proceed,” said Cole. “I’ll try to believe that 
black is white.” 

“That’s practically what it amounts to. The 
first fact I am asking you to accept on faith, for 
the present, is that we are not responsible for 
Malcolm Reeves’ deplorable condition. An opera¬ 
tion was performed on his brain, but we had noth¬ 
ing to do with it.” 

He paused as if expecting an objection. 

“The second fact I am asking you to accept 
provisionally,” he went on when Cole showed no 
inclination to speak, “is that we are just as anxious 
to solve the Carmody case as you can possibly be. 
We are more anxious, in fact, for we know more 
about its vast scope and enormous complexities 
than you do. Are you with me so far, Mr. Cole?” 

Cole’s shoulder made a seesawing motion. The 
whole thing was preposterous, but there was a qual¬ 
ity in the man’s tone that impressed him against 
his will. “You are asking me to believe that you 
are sheep in wolves’ clothing,” he remarked. 

“That’s undoubtedly how it looks to you. Won’t 
you try to brush your doubts aside, Mr. Cole? Re¬ 
member that in due time I will prove everything 
I say.” 

Cole’s indignation was cooling. There was some- 


68 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


thing about the spokesman that seemed to exert 
a subtle magnetism on him. Already his dreadful 
experience in the other room seemed dim and 
remote, though a few minutes ago he had thought 
it was indelibly etched on the scroll of his memory. 
“If what you say is true, then why-” 

“No questions, please. You would not believe 
me if I were to answer them. All I can say now 
is that we have excellent reasons for what we have 
done. Some time before long I think you your¬ 
self will approve them. Just now you must accept 
my statements on faith. Will you try to believe that 
we had nothing to do with Reeves’ condition and 
that we are on your side in the Carmody matter?” 

“You can’t deny that you tried to put me in the 
same condition Reeves is in?” 

“We can, but we won’t just at present. What 
happened in the other room I am asking you to 
dismiss from your mind in order that you may view 
the facts I have placed before you in an unbiased 
frame of mind. With that episode eliminated can’t 
you place a little temporary credence in what I 
say?” 

Cole tried to clarify his thoughts, but without 
much success. He realized with satisfaction that 
his hand was still clutching the knife. He won¬ 
dered whether, but for his quickness of mind and 
his deft handling of the little weapon, he would 
not now be a raving madman. It seemed strange 
that he was able to think coolly about the matter, 
and stranger still that he found himself listening to 
the spokesman’s arguments with any degree of 
seriousness. 



DISGUISED 


6g 

Finally he shook his head. “It won’t quite go 
down,” he declared. “You are asking me to take 
too much for granted. One’s brain was made to 
think with, and your statements won’t bear too close 
reasoning. You will have to give me your proofs 
before I can believe you.” 

A pause followed his words; then a chorus of 
whispers went around the table. The spokesman 
leaned over and consulted the man seated beside 
him. 

“I don’t blame you,” he declared, again turning to 
Cole. “After all, your skepticism is quite natural. 
It is even a tribute to your intellectual powers, for 
only children and feeble-minded persons accept un¬ 
supported statements. Now, as for proofs, let me 
see. Would you be convinced if you should find 
the man who is responsible for Reeves’ condition?” 

“You know who he is?” 

“We have had our suspicions for some time, 
but we were not certain until a short while ago. A 
delicate operation, by which certain brain cells were 
deadened, was performed on Reeves. We knew 
Professor Carmody could not have performed it, 
for he is not a surgeon. We began to look for 
an accomplice, and finally we found a man who 
seemed to fit into our theory of the case. Mr. Cole, 
did you ever hear of Doctor Dickson Latham?” 

“Never,” said Cole. 

“Well, certain circumstances, which needn’t be 
mentioned just now, made us believe that Doctor 
Latham was the man whom we were looking for. 
The matter was really of no great importance, 
only one of the minor angles of the case, but any 


;o 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


little light, shed on the corners of the mystery, 
might help toward solving the whole. We felt 
fairly certain Doctor Latham was our man; in the 
last hour we have become positive of it.” 

“In the last hour!” exclaimed Cole. “How?” 

“Malcolm Reeves told us.” 

“Reeves told you?” 

“By his actions, while you were lying pn the 
cot. We had two reasons for staging that little 
scene in the other room. The primary one we 
won’t go into at present. The other was to jog 
the dead part of Reeves’ brain back to life, by 
having him witness the preparations for an opera¬ 
tion that, in its essential aspects, must have re¬ 
sembled the one performed on himself. We hoped 
that the smell of the ether, the sight of the knives 
and the preparations in general would awaken a 
slumbering memory in his mind. The experiment 
was only partly successful, but Reeves’ actions 
proved beyond doubt that he recognized the officiat¬ 
ing surgeon.” 

Through the dusk Cole stared into the speaker’s 
calm face. “Then the surgeon-” 

“You probably didn’t notice it,” the other inter¬ 
rupted, “but the man who officiated as the surgeon 
was disguised. The disguise was put on by one of 
our men, an expert in that line.” 

“I noticed it, and it was a good job,” Cole re¬ 
marked. “I couldn’t see why it was necessary, 
though.” 

“The disguise was put on, not to hoodwink you, 
but for its effect on Reeves.” 

“I don’t understand.” 


DISGUISED 


71 


“But you will when I tell you that the disguise 
gave the officiating surgeon a superficial, but fairly 
convincing, resemblance to Doctor Dickson Latham.” 

“Clever, I’ll say!” exclaimed Cole who could ap¬ 
preciate ingenuity even in men who had caused him 
the most agonizing moments in his life. He re¬ 
called Reeves’ intense agitation while the prepara¬ 
tions were in progress. At the time he had not 
known what it meant, but he remembered that the 
surgeon had watched Reeves very closely, and this 
had given Cole his chance to snatch up the knife 
from the table. 

“There is no doubt that Reeves thought he was 
seeing the man who had performed the operation 
upon him,” the spokesman went on. “One of us 
was watching the scene through a small opening in 
the wall, and it was quite evident that the surgeon’s 
resemblance to Doctor Latham gave Reeves a pro¬ 
found shock. Our suspicions have been confirmed, 
but as yet we have no legal proof. We want you, 
Mr. Cole, to go out and get the evidence against 
Doctor Latham.” 

“Me?” 

“Why not? You are a detective, a very good 
one, though the fact isn’t generally known. If you 
find that Latham is guilty you will be more inclined 
to credit our statements and think favorably of the 
proposition we shall make you. You will leave here 
as you came, blindfolded and under guard. Until 
we understand each other better we don’t want you 
to learn too much about us. You will wish to sleep 
late in the morning, but to-morrow afternoon you 
can attack the Carmody case from a new angle,” 


72 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“And my clients?” asked Cole. 

“You will be all the better able to serve them 
because of your connection with us. As soon as 
you have found your evidence against Latham, or 
learned enough to convince you that we' are trust¬ 
worthy, you will come here again and report. We 
shall find a way of communicating with you in due 
time. What do you say to the idea?” 

Cole pondered. He tried to analyze the situation, 
but all he could see were contradictions and per¬ 
plexities. His only clear thought was that he had 
nothing to lose and perhaps much to gain by adopt¬ 
ing the suggestion. His glance swept the circle of 
masked faces, all of them turned expectantly in his 
direction. 

“The idea is good,” he finally declared. “I shall 
pay my respects to Doctor Latham to-morrow after¬ 
noon.” 


CHAPTER VI 


DOCTOR LATHAM 

'THE sun was several hours high the following 
morning when Kingdon Cole jumped out of 
bed and, from force of habit, turned toward his 
bathroom. A glance into the mirror on the white- 
tiled wall made him start. 

A man, even though he have nerves of steel and 
a constitution hard as armor, can’t pass through a 
siege of intense mental torture without showing 
traces of it. The nerve-racking agony, which Cole 
had undergone while lying on the cot, had left 
marks which seven hours of sound sleep had not re¬ 
moved. There was a suspicion of pallor beneath the 
bronze of his face. The usual brightness of his eyes 
was dimmed by a smoldering flicker which hinted at 
a long glimpse into infernal horrors. His face was 
drawn, and there were telltale lines and furrows. 
A twenty-four-hour growth of beard did not im¬ 
prove his appearance. 

“Nerves a bit on edge,” he told himself, turn¬ 
ing away from the mirror. “Look as if I hadn’t 
slept a wink in a week. My landlady would tell 
me I need a doctor, but a shower and a shave will 
make me as chipper as a colt.” 

Whistling, he stepped into the tub and turned on 
the water. A few minutes of wriggling and writh¬ 
ing under the icy shower would remove all signs 
of his adventure. He thrilled to the first cold 


74 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


splash, and then Cole drew back from beneath the 
shower. His lips twisted slowly. 

“Guess I’ll try a doctor instead/’ he decided. 
“I’m really in pretty bad shape. Nervous symp¬ 
toms are not to be trifled with. I’ll see what Doc¬ 
tor Dickson Latham has to say about my condi¬ 
tion.” 

Reluctantly he turned off the cold current and 
resigned himself to a lukewarm bath that did not 
refresh him in the least. Not too graciously, for 
habit becomes an exalted thing with men who live 
alone, he also decided to forgo his regular morn¬ 
ing shave. It was best, he whimsically reflected, 
that Doctor Latham should see him at his worst. 
He dressed with less than his usual care, took in 
the bottle of milk and the newspaper that were 
always left at his door, and, before starting to 
prepare his own simple breakfast, poured out a 
saucerful of milk for “Toots.” 

Toots was a white-and-yellow cat who had slipped 
into his rooms one morning and made herself at 
home. Cole hadn’t had a word to say about the 
arrangement. He had been helpless before Toots’ 
firmness, and the cat had made herself a fixture in 
his establishment. With a languid indifference and 
an occasional feline shrug she permitted herself to 
be waited on by Cole, who at times wondered 
whether the cat was patronizing him. When Toots 
selected his softest pillow to sleep on and sunned 
herself on his writing desk beside the window Cole 
felt that the sanctity of his bachelor existence was 
being violated, but the cat’s blandly tyrannizing ways 
left him without a word of protest. 


DOCTOR LATHAM 


75 


After breakfast he called up Doctor Latham’s office 
and made an appointment for half past two. Then 
he sat down with his newspaper and pipe, the lat¬ 
ter a smelly affair with a bowl shaped into the 
resemblance of a monkey’s face. It was an odd 
conceit, and it had been given him in lieu of his fee 
by an impecunious client. Only once had Cole had 
words with his landlady, and that was when the 
well-intentioned woman had undertaken to scrape 
out the bowl of his favorite pipe with a potato 
peeler. Cole smoked a weird mixture, compounded 
by himself of several domestic brands and spiced 
with a dash of perique. The strong concoction was 
a stimulant to mental effort, but at first he had 
hesitated to smoke such pungent stuff in the pres¬ 
ence of the dainty Toots. The cat had not seemed 
to mind, however. 

He turned the pages of his newspaper, but found 
nothing that interested him. At length he threw the 
paper aside and refilled his pipe. Toots was 
sprawled out on the unfinished manuscript of an 
article on criminal tendencies which he was pre¬ 
paring for a psychological review. He gave the 
cat a reproachful glance, but said nothing. There 
were times when Toots seemed to go too far. 

He looked out into the warm sunlight that bathed 
Gramercy Park, but his thoughts were flitting in and 
out of a maze of rooms on the top floor of a sky¬ 
scraper, located somewhere in the financial center. 
His recollections of the previous night were a queer 
medley of horror and mystery, of things that were 
terribly vivid and others that were dim and discon¬ 
nected like a dream. Now, as he sat in the sun- 


76 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


light, leisurely smoking his pipe, he tried to picture 
the mystic circle in the dimly lighted room. He 
could not quite focus his mental vision on the scene; 
it was too shadowy and unreal. The seven masked 
faces melted into a blur, then faded away com¬ 
pletely. It was no use trying to guess who those 
seven men were, or what their amazing conduct 
might mean. Perhaps his interview with Doctor 
Latham would suggest a solution to the mystery. 

The idea of approaching the doctor in the role 
of a patient had been something of an inspiration, 
but he had made no plans beyond that. The mock 
consultation would give him a chance to take the 
physician’s mental and physical measure and see 
what manner of man he was. Cole was a good 
judge of faces and a keen observer of human nature. 
To him the slightest gesture and the most casually 
spoken word had a meaning all their own. His 
first aim was to find out whether Latham was the 
kind of man who might commit such an atrocious 
crime as the operation on Malcolm Reeves; after 
that he would let his actions be guided by develop¬ 
ments. 

Before starting for his appointment he thought it 
might be well to gather a few facts about the phy¬ 
sician. He consulted his copy of “Who’s Who.” 
Dickson Latham was a specialist in nervous dis¬ 
orders, a graduate of several universities, a mem¬ 
ber of several learned societies, and his claim to 
distinction rested on his having written a number 
of treatises on cerebral surgery. The last fact 
seemed significant to Cole. He closed the book, 


DOCTOR LATHAM 


77 

gave Toots another mildly reproachful look, and 
went out to lunch. % 

A few minutes before half past two he rang the 
doorbell of the old brownstone house in the Six¬ 
ties, just east of Fifth Avenue, in which Doctor 
Latham resided and had his office. A young woman 
in the reception room handed him a magazine six 
months old and asked him to wait. Cole sat down 
and glanced about him out of the tail of an eye, 
while he pretended to look at the pictures in the 
periodical. It was a commonplace room, stuffily 
crowded with upholstered furniture. Two bookcases 
were filled with ponderous volumes in drab bind¬ 
ings. It was the typical reception room of a fairly 
thriving physician who derives most of his patron¬ 
age from the neurotic and dyspeptic individuals of 
the upper middle class. 

After a brief wait Cole was facing the physician 
across a mahogany desk in the inner office. 

“What seems to be the matter ?” asked Doctor 
Latham in a brisk, cheerful voice. 

“Nerves,” said Cole, making a lugubrious face. 
“No appetite. Can’t sleep nights. Always tired and 
out of sorts.” 

“Well, well, that’s too bad. You do look a bit 
run down, Mr. Stone. Let me see your tongue.” 

“Stone” was the name Cole had given over the 
telephone. It had seemed an unnecessary precau¬ 
tion, since Kingdon Cole was known to only a few 
people. His name seldom if ever appeared in con¬ 
nection with his work as a criminal investigator, 
but Cole always practiced discretion to a fault. 

While Doctor Latham looked at his tongue and 


73 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


felt his pulse Cole studied the physician closely, 
without appearing to do so. His first glance gave 
him a deep respect for the skill with which the 
surgeon of the night before had been made up. 
Doctor Latham was an inch or so taller, also a 
trifle thinner, and his black beard had the vitalic 
sheen that is not easily imitated; otherwise the re¬ 
semblance was quite impressive. 

“Let me test your heart,” said the doctor, reach¬ 
ing for his stethoscope. 

Cole bared his chest. He was already beginning 
to suspect that he was chasing a fool’s errand. Doc¬ 
tor Latham did not seem capable of deliberate 
wrongdoing, to say nothing of a fiendish crime. 
In vain Cole searched his face for the faintest trace 
of duplicity. The physician had the perennial opti¬ 
mism and the bristling cheerfulness that, in cases 
of nervous disorders, are far more efficacious than 
pills and extracts. The very tone of his voice, 
together with his hearty laugh, acted as a stimulant 
on jaded nerves. 

“There isn’t anything the matter with you, Mr. 
Stone,” he declared when the examination was fin¬ 
ished. “I can give you a tonic if you wish, but a 
couple of days’ rest will do you more good.” 

Cole buttoned up his shirt and replaced his col¬ 
lar. He felt certain now that his visit to the doc¬ 
tor’s office had been in vain. Latham’s kindly smile 
would have disarmed any suspicions remaining in 
his mind. It was a charming smile, a flash of white 
teeth against a setting of black beard, and it gave 
the final magnetic touch to a compelling personality. 

Cole chided himself for wasting valuable time, 


DOCTOR LATHAM 


79 


but he wished to make doubly sure before leaving 
the office. He wondered what would be the effect 
on the doctor if he should suddenly mention the 
name of Malcolm Reeves. None at all, very likely, 
he told himself; yet he felt an itching desire to 
make the test. 

He took out his pocketbook and looked question- 
ingly at the doctor, meanwhile wondering how he 
might mention Reeves' name in a casual, and yet 
sufficiently abrupt, manner to make the test con¬ 
clusive. 

“Sit down, Mr. Stone," said Doctor Latham, 
waving him to a chair. “You interest me. What 
is your profession?" 

“Author," said Cole, recalling that he had two 
volumes on criminology to his credit. 

“Ah! And what do you write?" 

“Trifling things," said Cole modestly. “You 
probably never saw any of them. Such frivolous 
reading matter wouldn’t interest you." 

“I read very little. The medical journals and a 
glance at the newspapers are about all I find time 
for. Do you know, Mr. Stone, that you puzzle 
me considerably?" 

“Indeed!" said Cole absently, still wondering how 
he might precipitate Malcolm Reeves’ name into the 
conversation. 

Doctor Latham smiled genially. A question kept 
teasing Cole’s mind. What would be the effect on 
that beaming countenance if he should suddenly 
speak Malcolm Reeves’ name? Probably none what¬ 
ever, he once more told himself; but the thought 
continued to tantalize him. 


So 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“There is a type of neurasthenic that is known 
to every medical practitioner/’ the doctor went on. 
“Their symptoms are quite well defined. Their ail¬ 
ments are mostly imaginary. On the slightest pre¬ 
text they will run to a physician with a long tale 
of woe. The physician in most instances, gives 
them a little sympathetic advice, a harmless tablet 
made up of sugar and dough, and pockets his fee. 
There’s nothing else to do. If told that their trou¬ 
bles exist only in their imagination they get offended 
and run to another doctor. Personally I don’t care 
for that kind of patients. Now, Mr. Stone, you 
don’t belong to that type. You are not a neuras¬ 
thenic, far from it. I wish I had your nerves. ,, - 

Cole regarded him with a questioning look. 

Doctor Latham laughed pleasantly. “You’re in 
perfect condition, Mr. Stone. Perhaps you have 
smoked too much, or taken too much strong coffee 
in the last few days, resulting in one or two sleep¬ 
less nights, but there is nothing else the matter with 
you. Ordinarily you would have shaken off the 
effects with a cold shower, or a hike in the country. 
I dare say you haven’t consulted a physician more 
than two or three times since you grew up. Under 
the circumstances I am somewhat curious to know 
why you came to me.” 

Cole gave him a sharp glance, but the affably 
smiling face instantly quieted the misgivings which 
the doctor’s statement had aroused. 

“What I don’t see,” Latham went on, “is why 
you went to a doctor at all, and why to me in par¬ 
ticular. We never saw each other until to-day. I 
don’t flatter myself by thinking that you knew me 


DOCTOR LATHAM 


81 


by reputation. People who have no regular physi¬ 
cian usually go to some one recommended to them 
by friends. They don’t like to consult a doctor 
who is an utter stranger to them. Perhaps among 
my patients there is a friend of yours who men¬ 
tioned me to you?” 

'That’s it exactly/’ said Cole, thrilling inwardly 
as he saw his chance to pitch Reeves’ name into the 
conversation. "Only the other day I was com¬ 
plaining to a friend of not feeling well, and he sug¬ 
gested I go to you. His name-” 

"Ah,” asked Doctor Latham, speaking in very 
soft tones. "I wonder if you are referring to Mal¬ 
colm Reeves?” 

For a moment Cole looked as if he had received 
a blow between the eyes. He gathered himself in 
an instant, but not before the doctor had noticed 
his surprise. The physician was still smiling, but 
now the smile was different. It was frosty and 
pale. "I see I guessed right,” he murmured. 

"Is Reeves one of your patients?” Cole managed 
to ask. 

The doctor leaned back in the chair, crossed his 
long legs, and gazed toward the ceiling. Cole be¬ 
came conscious of a distinct chill in the air, and 
he felt irritated at himself for having stumbled into 
the same trap he had set for the physician. Doctor 
Latham, he was beginning to perceive, was a man 
whose mental thrust was as quick and sure as his 
own. 

"Frankness is an excellent policy, Mr. Stone,” 
observed the physician coldly. "We shall make 
better progress if you will put all your cards on the 



82 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


table. You did not come here to consult me about 
your health. May I ask why you are honoring me 
with this visit ?” 

“You have not yet answered my own question,” 
observed Cole, quickly rallying to the verbal fencing 
match. “Is Reeves a patient of yours?” 

The doctor lowered his gaze. His piercing eyes 
searched Cole’s face. A faint flash of white teeth 
showed between the bearded lips. 

“I believe that question has a point to it,” he 
observed. “You ought to know, Mr. Stone, that 
a physician never discusses his patients. It is a very 
good rule, especially in the present instance. It 
affords me a good excuse for not answering your 
question.” 

“Then you admit you found the question embar¬ 
rassing?” 

“A discreet man never admits anything, Mr. 
Stone. I may point out, however, that questions 
are never embarrassing, although answers some¬ 
times are. I believe Wilde says something to that 
effect in one of his plays.” 

“Then you positively decline to answer?” 

“In order to spare us mutual embarrassment, yes. 
You see, Mr. Stone, there are circumstances in 
which a truthful answer may convey an erroneous 
impression. Now, won’t you tell me to what I owe 
the honor of this visit?” 

“Is that a candid question. Doctor Latham?” 

“By no means, my friend. I knew the answer 
before I spoke the question. I was merely curious 
to see whether you would reply truthfully.” 


DOCTOR LATHAM 


83 


Cole smiled. It was evident that Doctor Latham 
was a past master in the art of dueling with words. 
The man’s frankness amazed him. In admitting 
that he knew; the purpose of Cole’s visit he had also 
admitted that he knew; something about Malcolm 
Reeves’ condition. But he had turned his phrases 
so adroitly that nothing of a tangible nature could 
be fastened on him. 

“Will you tell me how you knew, doctor?” 

“Through a process of elimination. I knew at 
first glance that your concern over your physical 
condition was only a subterfuge. That narrowed 
the range of speculation down considerably. In 
fact, it left only one possible theory in regard to 
the object of your visit.” 

“Why only one? Isn’t it conceivable, for in¬ 
stance, that I came here to see if your office con¬ 
tains anything worth stealing?” 

Doctor Latham shook his head. “You don’t look 
the part, Mr. Stone.” 

“Well, suppose I am an officer of the law and 
came here to see if you are prescribing illegal 
amounts of intoxicating liquor or habit-forming 
drugs ?” 

“You didn’t go about it the right way.” 

“Couldn’t I be a long-lost friend or relative?” 

“I haven’t either. You came here for one spe¬ 
cific purpose, Mr. Stone, and I know what that 
purpose is.” 

Cole regarded him narrowly. “Knowledge sorne^- 
times implies guilt,” he remarked in casual tones. 

“But not always. You think that, because I know 
the object of your visit, I have guilty knowledge 


■84 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


of a certain matter that you are interested in. 
That's a very loose inference, Mr. Stone.” 

Cole thought for a few moments. The other’s 
indirect frankness amazed him, yet Doctor Latham 
was entirely too slippery to permit himself to be 
pinned down to hard facts. 

“Each of us seems to have come to stalemate,” 
observed the physician after a pause. “Shall we 
call the game a draw? Both of us have gained 
something. You think you have verified a suspi¬ 
cion, while I have learned to be on my guard against 
a new source of possible danger. Why not leave 
well enough alone?” 

“It’s a good suggestion,” said Cole, smiling. 
“Thanks for a very interesting half hour, doctor. 
Good day.” He bowed and moved toward the door, 
but the doctor’s voice made him turn back. 

“Just one moment, Mr. Stone. I think you have 
forgotten something. My fee is ten dollars. Ah, 
thank you!” 


CHAPTER VII 


COLE RECEIVES A WARNING 

TIE left the physician’s office a poorer, hut a 
* * wiser, man. The half hour had been well 
spent even though the interview had yielded little 
in the way of tangible results. Cole had met an 
interesting personality and come in contact with a 
fine-edged mind. The doctor, with his subtleties 
and his evasions, had proven a fascinating charac¬ 
ter. His depth and elusiveness carried a teasing 
appeal to Cole’s imagination. Cole was not yet 
through with Doctor Latham. 

He walked to the corner, turned into a tobac¬ 
conist’s shop, and bought a package of cigarettes, 
then stood at the curb and smoked one, while he 
glanced now and then at the physician’s house. The 
drab brownstone facade seemed as mocking and 
tantalizing as the man who dwelt within. It was 
as baffling and impenetrable as the doctor himself. 
Cole tried to analyze his impressions, but it was a 
hard task. The physician had admitted nothing 
except by implication. He had thrown out certain 
bold hints, and then he had practically challenged 
Cole to make the most of them. 

Cole did not like to draw hasty conclusions, but, 
after he had sifted down his impressions, there 
remained in his mind a picture of a polished and 
very artful rogue who performed his machinations 
with an adroit touch and a high degree of finesse. 
The picture was blurred in spots, and he had to 




86 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


use his imagination to touch up the obscure parts. 
It was significant, however, that the surgeon's 
make-up should have exerted such a startling effect 
on Malcolm Reeves the night before. Beyond doubt 
Reeves had thought that he recognized the man 
who was responsible for his pitiful state. This 
proved inferentially Doctor Latham was the man 
who- 

But Cole did not like to deal in inferences. They 
were treacherous things, as he had observed on 
numerous occasions. He must have more facts 
before he began building up theories on the flimsy 
foundation which Doctor Latham's oily innuendos 
had created in his mind. Meanwhile it was inter¬ 
esting to note that the clew which he had brought 
with him from the circular table appeared to be a 
substantial one. He had not convinced himself of 
Doctor Latham's guilt, but he had at least found a 
promising lead. Reluctantly, for his experience of 
the night before still rankled, he was forced to admit 
that there was a modicum of truth in what the 
spokesman had told him. 

He finished his cigarette and was about to turn 
away, but just then a figure, rounding the opposite 
corner, claimed his attention. With a little start 
he recognized Professor Carmody. Bending over 
a stout cane the professor walked with a jerky gait 
and the plopping sound of shoes several sizes too 
large. He wore a sun-bleached silk hat and, despite 
the balmy autumn weather, a long overcoat cov¬ 
ered his gaunt form. Cole nodded in a knowing way 
as he saw the professor turn into Doctor Latham's 
house. 



COLE RECEIVES A WARNING 


87 


Thoughtfully he walked away. His suspicions 
and speculations were assuming tangible form. Pro¬ 
fessor Carmody’s visit to Latham’s house in broad 
daylight suggested several things. Viewed in con¬ 
nection with certain other circumstances, it hinted 
strongly at a bond of interest between the two men. 
In view of what Cole already knew it seemed not 
so very far-fetched to suppose that they were asso¬ 
ciates in some enterprise that was more or less 
closely related to Malcolm Reeves* fate. That Car- 
mody should openly call on the doctor seemed to 
indicate that the conspirators felt that they had cov¬ 
ered their tracks so carefully that ordinary precau¬ 
tions could be thrown to the wind. 

Cole cut through a corner of the park, and gradu¬ 
ally his perplexities dissipated themselves in the soft 
autumnal haze that hung over the greenery. He 
knew how to loaf as well as to work, and he pos¬ 
sessed the happy knack of forgetting his problems 
in contemplation of rippling waters, or an azure 
sky. It was thus he conserved his energies and kept 
in touch with the softer aspects of life. 

He rested for half an hour, and then he remem¬ 
bered he had a duty to perform. It was not a 
pleasant task, but it must be done. Now that he 
had learned something definite about Malcolm 
Reeves’ fate, it was necessary that he should report 
progress to his clients. As he retraced his steps 
across the park and turned north on Fifth Avenue 
he wondered how much it would be advisable to 
tell. To go into details in regard to his adven¬ 
tures of the previous night would be impossible, for 
Cole himself did not know what they meant. 



58 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Ascending the steps of a square-cornered house 
of gloomy aspect he rang the doorbell. There was 
a tomblike air about the residence of Hector Engle- 
breth that gave Cole a chill each time he visited the 
house. Out of deference to the whims of the in¬ 
valid who occupied it the window shades were nearly 
always lowered. Doors turned without the faintest 
sound on well-oiled hinges. Heavy carpets muf¬ 
fled the footfalls of inmates and visitors. The 
heavily shaded lamps threw a subdued light on mas¬ 
sive and somberly upholstered furniture that seemed 
to belong to a remote past. 

A tight-lipped manservant ushered Cole into the 
library. Englebreth was seated in a wheel chair 
before a desk of black walnut. Despite the in¬ 
firmity, which an acute case of inflammatory rheu¬ 
matism had brought him, his long and triangular 
face gave an impression of wiry strength. His 
shoulders, as he sat hunched in the wheel chair, 
seemed uncommonly broad. His face was blood¬ 
less; his short-cropped, upstanding hair was almost 
white. Except when he spoke, the long, thin lips 
were tightly compressed, making him look as though 
he were constantly exerting his will power to hide 
the signs of his suffering. 

“Any news, Mr. Cole ?” he inquired in a low, 
toneless voice. 

“I have made some progress,” replied Cole, also 
speaking in subdued tones. In that dim, somber 
room it seemed natural to speak softly. “X have 
reason to believe that your brother-in-law is still 
alive.” 

Englebreth had been tapping the desk with a pen- 


COLE RECEIVES A WARNING 89 

cil. Suddenly the tapping stopped. He gazed 
fixedly at the detective. “How much reason?” he 
asked. 

“I know it to be a fact/' said Cole, weighing his 
words, “that Mr. Reeves was alive last night.” 

“So,” mumbled the other in tones scarcely above 
a whisper. “Professor Carmody hasn’t done away 

with him, then. I feared that he might-” He 

broke off, then raised his voice a little. “How do 
you know this, Mr. Cole? How can you be so posi¬ 
tive that my brother-in-law was alive last night ? 
You don’t mean to say that you have seen him?” 

The last sentence was spoken in tense and vibrant 
tones, so unlike Englefireth’s usually colorless voice. 

“Before I answer that question,” said Cole, “I 
want to ask you one. What makes you so positive 
that Professor Carmody has had a hand in your 
brother-in-law’s disappearance ?” 

“Have you learned something that has brought 
you to a contrary view?” N 

“Please answer my question.” 

A scowl darkened Englebreth’s face. He re¬ 
sumed his slow tapping with the pencil. “We know 
that my brother-in-law had frequent and secret 
meetings with Carmody. We have established defi¬ 
nitely that he had an appointment with the pro¬ 
fessor on the night of his disappearance. One of 
the servants in his house heard him make the 
appointment over the telephone. You yourself 
learned, from the delicatessen keeper across the 
street from Carmody’s place, that a man answering 
Malcolm’s description entered the house on that par¬ 
ticular night. Fairly conclusive, I should say.” 



90 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Cole eyed him levelly. “You are holding some¬ 
thing back, Mr. Englebreth. You have not stated 
your principal reason for suspecting Carmody in 
connection with Mr. Reeves’ disappearance.” 

The tapping became a furious tattoo. “Why do 
you say that, sir?” 

Cole fumbled for words, then laughed. “I’ll be 
hanged if I know! It’s nothing but a hunch. From 
the first I had a feeling that you were not telling 
me all, but I admit I had no sound reason for think¬ 
ing so.” 

Englebreth, seemingly mollified, smiled. “You 
detectives are suspicious of everybody. I suppose 
that’s a part of your stock in trade. However, I 
don’t mind admitting that, in this instance, you 
were partly right. I have told you everything that 
can be of any help to you in your search for Mal¬ 
colm; yet there are certain trifling details that, for 
private reasons and out of regard for the family, 
I have not confided to you. You would not be 
interested in them, and they couldn’t be of any pos¬ 
sible use to you. It was because of these private 
and delicate matters that I took the case to you 
instead of the police. Now will you answer my 
question? Have you seen Malcolm?” 

“I have, Mr. Englebreth. I saw him last night.” 

“Where?” The invalid strained forward in his 
chair. “In Professor Carmody’s house?” 

“No; I have not yet seen the inside of the pro¬ 
fessor’s residence.” 

“Then where did you see him?” The tapping 
had ceased again, and Englebreth was waiting 
breathlessly for the answer. 


COLE RECEIVES A WARNING 


9i 


“That’s the queer part of it.” Cole gave a little 
baffled laugh. “I have seen your brother-in-law, but 
I can’t tell you where.” 

“You can’t?” 

“Because I don’t know.” 

A threatening look crossed Englebreth’s face. 
“This is no occasion for jests, Mr. Cole. Even if 
you have no feelings of your own in the matter, you 
ought to respect the sentiments of other people. My 
wife is deeply shocked over the uncertainty regard¬ 
ing her brother’s fate.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Englebreth. I laughed, but it 
was only out of sheer bewilderment. I had an expe¬ 
rience last night that was so unbelievable that I 
shan’t try to describe it. I feel dazed whenever I 
look back upon it. All I can tell you is that I saw 
Mr. Reeves alive.” 

“And well?” questioned Englebreth sharply. 

“He seemed to have been through a trying expe¬ 
rience.” 

“You are quibbling. I want the truth.” 

“Perhaps I shall be able to give it to you some 
time within the next twenty-four hours. For the 
present I fear you will have to be satisfied with 
what I have told you. My impressions of what I 
saw and heard last night are not very clear. You 
will understand the reason when I give you a full 
report.” 

“This is strange talk, Mr. Cole.” 

“Not half so strange as some of the things that 
happened to me last night.” 

Englebreth sat erect in his chair, regarding the 
detective with a piercing gaze. Evidently he was 


92 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


far from satisfied, and Cole could not blame him. 
Silence fell between them; then a soft tinkling was 
heard. Even the telephone seemed to utter its sum¬ 
mons in whispers in that house of subdued sounds. 

The invalid wheeled his chair a little closer to 
the desk and put the receiver to his ear. A conver¬ 
sation ensued, and gradually Englebreth’s face 
underwent a transformation. Cole could not inter¬ 
pret the new look that came into his countenance, 
but he watched it in wonder. In a few minutes the 
invalid hung up, and the puzzling expression left 
his face as suddenly as it had come. He was smil¬ 
ing when he turned to Cole. 

“On the whole I find your report quite satisfac¬ 
tory,” he said in conciliating tones. “I appreciate 
the difficulties you have to deal with. Don’t mind 
me if I seem impatient. May I expect to hear from 
you soon again?” 

“To-morrow, I hope.” Cole was still marveling 
at the change he had witnessed in his client. He 
wondered whether the telephone conversation had 
brought it about. From Englebreth’s part in it he 
had been unable to make out its nature, but he 
imagined that his client had received news of a star¬ 
tling kind. After an exchange of a few casual 
remarks he got up and moved toward the door. 

“Just one thing more, Mr. Cole,” said Englebreth 
as he placed his hand on the knob. “Please be 
careful.” 

“What?” Cole turned and looked back at the 
invalid. The tone, rather than the words, had given 
him an odd sensation. Englebreth’s white face was 


COLE RECEIVES A WARNING 93 

wreathed in smiles, but Cole sensed a hidden barb 
somewhere. 

“Just be careful,” said the invalid. “That’s all, 
Mr. Cole.” 

Cole went out, but echoes of Englebreth’s voice 
pursued him through the door and out on the street. 
The words had sounded as though they contained 
a veiled threat of some kind. What could he have 
meant ? He turned the question over in his mind, 
time and again. Was it possible that Englebreth, 
in some strange and devious way, had learned of 
the attempt that had been made to persuade Cole 
to betray his client? 

The theory seemed grossly improbable, but, as 
he walked along, he could think of no other solu¬ 
tion. The more he thought of it the more likely 
it seemed that his client had, in some mysterious 
manner, got an inkling of last night’s happenings. 
He remembered the agitation he had shown at the 
telephone. And later, when he gave Cole that 
peculiar warning, his voice had sounded as though 
he meant to convey a threat of terrible punishment 
if the detective should go back on his duty. 

Cole had not walked far when his step began 
to lag. He paused at a corner and glanced at his 
watch. He pursed his lips, then he scowled a little, 
and a look of weighty responsibility came into his 
face. 

Tt was time to go home and feed Toots. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


LL evening Cole had felt a presentiment that 



** his telephone was to ring. When it finally 
did ring, shortly after eleven o’clock, he knew, even 
before he lifted the receiver from the hook, that he 
was about to receive a message from the mysterious 


seven. 


His “hello” was answered by the rich soprano 
voice of the woman who called herself Miss Brown, 
but somehow it sounded different. The frolicsome 
undertone, which he had noticed the previous eve¬ 
ning, was gone. In place of it there was a faint 
tremor that hinted of keen anxiety. 

“I am calling from a public booth near Madison 
Square,” she told him. “At exactly twelve o’clock 
I shall be waiting in my car, on the southeast cor¬ 
ner of Broadway and Twenty-third Street.” 

“I’ll be there,” said Cole firmly. During the 
late afternoon and evening he had made up his mind 
that, if a summons should come from the myste¬ 
rious seven, he would obey it. 

“But be careful,” she went on, and the last word 
had an oddly familiar sound in Cole’s ears. “An 
attempt will be made to follow you.” 

“I know,” said Cole lightly. “I’ve been watched 
ever since I went out to dinner this evening. I be¬ 
lieve somebody is looking up at my windows this 
very moment. Have no fear. I’ll shake him off.” 

Again requesting him to be careful, Miss Brown 
rang off. For a moment, after the connection had 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


95 


been severed, he stood smiling into the transmitter. 
Then he stepped to the window and looked out into 
Gramercy Park. The sky was partly overcast, and 
a haze of moonlight and shadows hovered over the 
trees. Almost directly below his window stood a 
gaunt individual whose eyes were slanting up at 
him beneath the brim of a dark felt hat. 

Cole examined his pistol before he put it in his 
pocket, donned hat and light overcoat, and went 
out. On the stoop he paused for a moment and 
stuck a cigarette between his lips. Then he swung 
down the steps and sauntered up to the watcher at 
the curb. 

“Pardon,” he said urbanely. “Could I trouble 
you for a match?” 

The watcher searched his vest pocket and handed 
him one. Cole caught a full view of the fellow’s 
face as he kindled his cigarette. The man was a 
stranger to him. Murmuring profuse thanks for 
the accommodation Cole walked away. Twenty 
minutes later, after a devious journey by foot, sub- 
way, and surface cars, he plunged into the traffic jam 
in the theatrical district. For a little while he darted 
in and out among surging streams of humanity. 
Then, certain that he had thrown the pursuer off his 
tracks, he boarded a southbound car. A tower clock 
was signaling the midnight hour just as he reached 
the appointed corner in Madison Square. 

“You are very prompt,” observed Miss Brown, 
as he stepped into the limousine in which his adven¬ 
ture had begun, exactly twenty-four hours ago. 
“You are sure you haven’t been followed?” 

“Only a short distance.” Cole sat down beside 


96 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


her, having a weird feeling that ages had passed 
since he last touched those cushions. “I shook off 
the fellow quite easily.” 

The car was gliding swiftly toward the south, 
but soon it began to turn and twist in all directions. 
The windows were shaded, and Cole could only 
guess which way they were going. 

“You’re an audacious person,” murmured the girl. 
“After what happened last night I wasn’t sure you 
would come with me a second time.” 

Cole smiled. “Audacious isn’t quite the word.” 

“No, I suppose not. You’re not the kind of man 
who indulges in foolish bravado. Your decision to 
come with me to-night was the result of long and 
careful thinking, after you left Doctor Latham’s 
office. Your interview with the doctor convinced 
you that our acquaintance might be worth cultivat¬ 
ing, despite the rough treatment you were given 
last night. Am I right?” 

“In the main. You know, then, that I called on 
Doctor Latham?” 

“Of course. You have been under constant sur¬ 
veillance since you left our establishment early this 
morning.” 

“How flattering! But you puzzle me, Miss 
Brown. I have been conscious of being watched 
only since dinner time.” 

She gave an amused laugh. “One is never con¬ 
scious of our brand of espionage. We have men 
on our staff who have reduced shadowing to a fine 
art. They are not so easily shaken off as was the 
simpleton who stood outside your windows this 
evening. By the way, Mr. Cole, aren’t you harbor- 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


97 

ing a little resentment against me for my part in 
last night’s affair?” 

“Perhaps,” said Cole dryly, “but curiosity is a 
stronger motive than resentment.” 

“You are not at all gallant. Lots of other men 
would have replied to that question with a flowery 
compliment.” 

“They would have been fools. You would have 
secretly despised them for it.” 

A little pause. “Thank you,” she whispered, but 
the words sounded so faint that Cole was not sure 
he was expected to hear them. 

The car had ceased its zigzagging course and was 
traveling in a straight line. Presently Miss Brown 
produced the scarf with which she had covered his 
eyes the previous night. 

“I hope this is the last time I shall have to blind¬ 
fold you,” she murmured, as she folded the cloth 
into a bandage and covered the upper portion of 
his face. “Perhaps the next time-” 

She did not finish the sentence. Just then the 
car stopped, and she guided him across the side¬ 
walk and up the stone steps. In a few moments 
they were darting upward in the elevator. Again 
the wall opened at Miss Brown’s touch on a hidden 
spring. As it closed behind them Cole had a hazy 
feeling of being shut off from the world. They 
walked a short distance down the corridor. Then 
a door opened, and once more he found himself 
in the room with the circular table. The girl van¬ 
ished, and a voice bade him step forward. 

He walked up to the table. The masked men 
seated around it looked gray and ghostly in the 



9 8 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


dusk. He scanned the veiled faces closely as his 
eyes responded to the dim light. The black beard 
was not there; yet he counted seven faces. Evi¬ 
dently the surgeon was not wearing his disguise 
to-night. 

“Very glad to see you, Mr. Cole,” said a voice 
which he recognized. “The fact that you have re¬ 
turned is additional proof that we were not mistaken 
in you. Sit down.” 

Cole seated himself at the spokesman’s side. His 
ears were keyed to catch any suspicious sound, while 
his eyes cautiously explored the dusk about him. 
His right hand hung loosely over the side of the 
chair, but it was ready to reach for his pistol at 
the slightest sign of danger. He was far from 
certain in regard to the intentions of the seven 
men, and he was determined not to be caught off 
his guard. 

“Perhaps it will give you some satisfaction to 
know,” the spokesman went on, “that you sent one 
of our men to the hospital last night.” 

Cole smiled faintly as he recalled the fight in the 
dark. His knuckles still showed bruises from the 
blows he had showered on his opponent before he 
was overwhelmed by superior numbers. 

“He is a big, husky chap, and he knows how 
to put a lot of steam into his punch,” the spokes¬ 
man continued. “You pounded his face to a jelly. 
I don’t think Sam will ever get over the humilia¬ 
tion. His mortification ought to soften the bitter¬ 
ness you naturally feel toward us. By the way, 
you called on Doctor Latham, as I suggested. Did 
the interview prove satisfactory?” 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 99 

“It wasn’t conclusive,” said Cole guardedly. 

“We didn’t expect that. The doctor is too wily 
to permit himself to be caught so easily. But didn’t 
your talk with him leave a strong presumption of 
guilt in your mind?” 

“It convinced me that Doctor Latham knows 
something of what happened to Mr. Reeves.” 

“And to that extent it modified your skepticism 
in regard to us?” 

“I am here,” said Cole with a shrug. “Isn’t that 
answer enough?” 

“It is. You wouldn’t have come back to-night 
unless something had happened to counteract the 
bad impression which you derived from your first 
visit. No doubt the balance is still against us, but 
you are willing to listen to what we have to say. 
Will you pay close attention while I state a hypo¬ 
thetical case?” 

“My ears are wide open.” 

“Very well, then. First let me state a general 
principle. It must have occurred to you, Mr. Cole, 
that there is something radically wrong with the 
enforcement of our laws and the administration of 
justice. The jails are doing a thriving business, and 
many criminals are convicted every day in the year. 
With rare exceptions, however, they are the smaller 
fry. Too often the big rascals go unpunished, while 
the little fellows get it in the neck. The agencies 
of law and order are often powerless when dealing 
with criminals who perpetrate their malefactions on 
a large scale. Are you with me so far? 

“Go on,” said Cole. 


100 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“The cause of this deplorable situation is obvi¬ 
ous. The big rascal evades the law and goes scot- 
free, while the little fellow breaks the law and lands 
in jail. Or else the big rascal violates the law in 
such a clever manner that conviction is impossible. 
He has the best legal talent on his side. Brilliant 
and unscrupulous lawyers lie awake nights schem¬ 
ing how a powerful client might commit crimes with 
impunity. Often the big rogue has unlimited re¬ 
sources at his command. If he is in danger of 
getting caught a substantial bribe frequently lets 
him out, or he uses political or social influence to 
get clear of the danger. True, isn’t it?” 

“Unfortunately it is,” said Cole, “but I don’t 
see what all this-” 

“Just a moment. I am getting to the point as 
fast as I can. You must have noticed that the 
police and other agencies are seriously handicapped 
in trying to cope with crime on a large scale. They 
are hampered by a number of things, inefficiency, 
corruption, political patronage, sometimes indiffer¬ 
ence on the part of the public. There are many 
honest and capable men among them, but their num¬ 
ber is too small. Besides, the machinery of justice 
is too ponderous and cumbersome In its compe¬ 
tition with crime it has the same handicap as a 
truck trying to compete with a roadster. But that 
isn’t the worst of it.” 

“You’re painting a gloomy picture,” Cole ob¬ 
served. 

“But you know as well as I do that it is true to 
life. The most serious phase of the situation is 
the fact that the law, in effect if not in theory, is 



THE UNKNOWN SEVEN ioi 

punitive rather than preventive. Our administra¬ 
tors of justice are too often content with locking 
the stable after the horse is gone. It may be a 
satisfaction to you, when your pocketbook is stolen 
and the money squandered, to see the thief go to 
jail, but it isn’t doing you any material good. It 
may be gratifying to you to know that that par¬ 
ticular thief won’t steal any more pocketbooks for 
a while, but that isn’t going to compensate you for 
your loss. The time to stop the crook is before the 
damage is done, and that’s exactly where our police 
system falls down on the job.” 

“True enough,” Cole admitted. “But what are 
you going to do about it?” 

He fancied the spokesman was smiling, but he 
could not be sure. The others at the table had not 
spoken a word. 

“There is the Carmody case, for instance,” the 
other went on, without answering Cole’s question 
directly. “It shouldn’t be called that, for the pro¬ 
fessor is only a puppet, a dwarf in comparison with 
the men who are pulling the strings. You have 
barely scratched the surface of the case, so, no 
doubt, you are amazed at what I say. The so-called 
Carmody case is in reality one of the biggest swin¬ 
dles ever projected. It is being engineered by a 
group of brilliant and very powerful men who have 
enormous resources in brains and cash at the tips 
of their fingers. They are working in the dark, 
with the utmost secrecy and astounding cleverness. 
If the authorities at Washington knew what was 
going on, there would be a panic all along Penn¬ 
sylvania Avenue.” 



102 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


"Why doesn't some one tell them?" 

The spokesman chuckled deprecatingly. “If I 
should go to them with the story to-morrow they 
would demand proof, and I haven’t any. That is, 
nothing that is tangible. I am positive of my facts, 
but proving them is another matter. In a case like 
this the proof can’t be produced until the damage 
is already done. Having no evidence, I should prob¬ 
ably be met with indifference or skepticism. Even 
if an investigation were made, it would be purely 
perfunctory. The investigators would kick up just 
enough dust to blind themselves and tip the con¬ 
spirators off to their danger." 

“But, if things are as bad as you say, something 
should be done." 

“Something is being done, Mr. Cole, and that 
brings me to the hypothetical case I was about to 
state. Imagine a group of wealthy and public- 
spirited citizens, men of brains, aggressiveness, and 
imagination, who have banded themselves together 
for the purpose of correcting the condition I have 
just described. Let us say they have built up a 
small, compact and marvelously efficient organiza¬ 
tion, in comparison with which the government’s 
ponderous machinery is like the truck trying to out¬ 
distance the roadster. This organization, unham¬ 
pered by graft, political patronage, and red tape, 
and having unlimited resources at its command, 
becomes the secret ally of the police, the depart¬ 
ment of justice, and similar agencies. Its existence 
is practically unknown to all but its own members. 
Like the criminal whom it is endeavoring to com¬ 
bat, it works in the dark and silently. This in itself 


THE UN KM OWN SEVEN 103 

gives it a tremendous advantage. You are begin¬ 
ning to understand ?” 

Cole nodded. 

“This organization has a corps of brilliant opera¬ 
tives, each one tested and tried and found one hun¬ 
dred per cent honest and efficient. At its head is 
an executive of exceptional ability. All the re¬ 
sources of the organization are placed at his dis¬ 
posal. He is paid a salary so large that it should 
render him immune to all sorts of corruption and 
amply compensate him for the fact that his achieve¬ 
ments never become known to the outside world. 

“For a time all goes well. Now and then the 
police, or the authorities at Washington, receive a 
package from an anonymous source. They open it 
and dazedly peruse the contents. It is evidence 
gathered by some of the shrewdest detectives in the 
country and put into shape by the best lawyers 
obtainable. It is so thoroughly prepared that it will 
stand every legal test. All the authorities have to 
do is to hale the culprit into court and read the 
evidence to the jury. In all cases but one the ver¬ 
dict has been guilty.” 

“The exception,” the spokesman went on in gritty 
tones, “was due to the dereliction of the executive 
at the head of the corps. Contrary to expectations 
and despite all the incentives which he had for 
remaining loyal to the organization, the man was 
corrupted by the other side. No doubt he sold his 
honor for a fortune. At all events he disappeared, 
and the case collapsed. It was necessary to find 
some one to take his place. This time the men at 
the head of the organization were determined to 


104 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


make no mistake. The next executive must be not 
only efficient and fearless, but incorruptible as well. 
For once the leaders decided to let the ends justify 
the means and go the limit in testing their candidate. 
Well, they did go the limit. They tried him in acid, 
and he assayed twenty-four carats.” 

Murmurs of approval went around the circle. 
Every face was leveled intently in Cole’s direction. 
For several minutes he had anticipated the trend 
of the spokesman’s remarks, yet he started a little 
at the last sentence. 

‘‘Now you understand,” the other continued. “For 
some time we have been satisfied in regard to your 
ability. Our secret investigation left us in no doubt 
on that point. Last night we learned that you 
could resist three of the most powerful forms of 
temptation imaginable—fear, greed, and a charm¬ 
ing woman’s tears. And not only that, but you 
also proved your superiority in a physical encoun¬ 
ter, in addition to showing presence of mind and 
quickness of wit in a most terrifying situation. You 
scored one hundred per cent on every point. I 
am only sorry the test had to be so severe.” 

Cole sat silent for a time; then he shook the 
spokesman’s outreached hand. “It’s worth a lot 
to me to know that I am a twenty-four-carat man,” 
he declared. 

“Then you accept?” 

Cole pondered while his glance swept the masked 
faces. 

“Who are you?” he asked. 

“We call ourselves The Unknown Seven. The 
name fits because nobody, not even our best friends. 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


105 


know us in our capacity of secret allies of the 
authorities. It’s possible you have seen some of us 
before.” 

He raised his arm, and each man at the table 
made a sudden motion with his hand. In an instant 
the seven masks had been removed. Then a glar¬ 
ing light shattered the dusk, and Cole looked in 
astonishment at the unveiled faces. Several of them 
were familiar to him from pictures that had ap¬ 
peared in the newspapers, in connection with 
weighty national or municipal affairs. He blinked 
his eyes in bewilderment and was about to say some¬ 
thing when the door suddenly opened. 

Miss Brown entered in great haste. She was 
pale and breathless, and Cole could see that some¬ 
thing of a startling nature had happened. The 
seven men rose and bowed as she came up to the 
table. 

“What is it?” asked the spokesman. 

For a moment the girl’s eyes rested on Cole’s 
face. There was a mingling of questioning, sus¬ 
picion, and reproach in them that bewildered him. 
Then she turned to the spokesman. “The red light 
is flashing on the indicator!” she breathlessly de¬ 
clared. “Some one is coming up the elevator!” 

For a moment each man in the room stood rigidly 
still. Then came a shuffling of feet and scraping 
of chairs. Now and then an ominous mutter was 
heard. Then, with one accord, all glances turned 
threateningly in the direction where Cole stood. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE RED LIGHT 

tT'OR a time no one in the room moved. Cole 
* was both amused and puzzled by the hostile 
glances leveled in his direction. The attitude of The 
Unknown Seven had changed from friendliness to 
suspicion, with an abruptness that was almost ludi¬ 
crous. Miss Brown’s reference to a red light 
seemed to have turned them against him in a twin¬ 
kling. 

He could not understand. He looked at the 
spokesman as if expecting an explanation. Now, 
with the lights on and the mask removed, Cole 
thought there was something familiar about his face. 
It was hewn on rather rough lines, suggestive of a 
man of great strength and determination. The 
iron-gray hair curled a little. The mouth was firm 
and gave a trace of harshness to the face. The 
eyes, arched by upslanting brows, were clear and 
cold. 

Just now those eyes were gazing fixedly at Cole. 
There was the faintest suspicion of a threat in them, 
he thought. He pondered for a moment, arranged 
a few scattered recollections, and then the man’s 
name came to him. He was Grover Carlin, a crimi¬ 
nal lawyer of high standing and great ability. Cole 
had once heard him make a masterly address to a 
jury. 

Only a few moments had passed since Miss 
Brown had made her breathless announcement. 



THE RED LIGHT 


107 


Now one of the seven men sprang toward the door, 
and the others followed. Cole and Carlin, walking 
side by side, brought up the rear. The foremost of 
the procession opened a door across the hall, and the 
others tumbled in after him. It was a large room, 
filled with desks and filing cases, but the first thing 
that caught Cole’s eye was a globe of glass in which 
a red light was flashing at intervals of a few sec¬ 
onds. 

“What does it mean?” he asked Carlin. 

The lawyer gave him a sharp glance. “It means 
that a stranger is coming up the elevator,” he an¬ 
nounced shortly. 

“Why a stranger? Couldn’t it be one of your 
own men?” 

“No. When our own men enter the private 
elevator they always throw a lever which prevents 
the light from flashing. The red light is a danger 
signal. The elevator is an automatic one, and it is 
impossible for a stranger to operate it unless he is 
acquainted with the mechanism. Our visitor must 
have got the hang of it, somehow. Mr. Cole, you 
are the only outsider who has been inside this es¬ 
tablishment in weeks.” 

“Am I to infer that I am under suspicion?” 

“Well, it looks rather queer.” 

Smiling, Cole watched the flickering red in the 
glass globe. “But you admitted yourself that I am 
a twenty-four-carat man.” 

The other nodded. “Yes, I know, but-” 

“Perhaps you suspect I arranged to have myself 
followed here this evening?” 

“Such a thing is conceivable.” 




io8 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

‘'But the rest isn’t very practicable. I never saw 
the elevator, much less learned how to operate it. 
I was blindfolded both times I came up in it.” 

“True, but you are a very clever man, Mr. 
Cole. Your performance of last night proved that. 
And the fact remains that you are the only stranger 
who has been inside this establishment in a long 
time.” 

The red flashes has ceased. Cole looked about 
him. Several of the men were glowering at him, 
while Miss Brown regarded him with a look of 
doubt and vague disappointment. 

“What about the former executive you mentioned, 
the man who betrayed you?” he asked. “Isn’t it 
possible that he is up to deviltry of some kind?” 

Carlin shook his head. “The mechanism has been 
changed since he left us. Besides, he would know 
enough to turn the lever to prevent the light from 
flashing. It will be interesting to see whether our 
visitor knows how to operate the sliding panel in 
the wall. If he does, you will presently see a green 
light in the indicator. 

It was evident that the lawyer was trying to be 
fair and withhold judgment, but Cole could see 
he was an object of grave doubt. The others in the 
room were intently watching the indicator, but now 
and then they glanced darkly at Cole. Several of 
them seemed loath to suspect him, and among them 
was Miss Brown; but apparently they could think 
of no other explanation for the mysterious in¬ 
trusion than that he had played false with them. 

Like the others he fell to watching the glass 
globe. The ceasing of the red flashes seemed to 


THE RED LIGHT 


109 


indicate that the intruder had reached the top floor. 
Perhaps at this very moment he was searching 
for the hidden spring that controlled the panel in 
the wall. Cole felt a tingling suspense as he waited 
to see whether a green light would appear in the 
indicator. 

“What can the fellow hope to gain by coming 
here?” he asked Carlin. 

The lawyer gave him a searching glance, as if 
not quite sure that the question had been asked 
sincerely. “A lot,” he said dryly. “There are 
papers in our files, evidence in the form of memo¬ 
randa and legal documents, that certain parties 
would be willing to pay a great price for.” 

“But doesn’t he realize that you won’t give them 
up without a fight?” 

“Usually only the watchmen are here as late as 
this.” The lawyer gave Cole another dubious glance 
out of his cold eyes. “To-night and last night we 
have been holding special sessions on your account. 
Probably our unbidden visitor doesn’t know that. 
If he is hoping that he will have only a couple of 
watchmen to deal with, there will be a surprise 
waiting for him as soon as he gets through the 
wall, if he does get through.” 

Evidently the intruder was having difficulties. 
For several minutes the indicator had been blank, 
but the glances of those in the room were drawn 
to it as to a magnet. 

Cole’s eyes traveled over the oddly assorted com¬ 
pany. A few feet in front of him stood a retired 
financier, a multimillionaire, who had once been 
a power in'Wall Street, and whose money was being 



no 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


used unsparingly to fight corruption and vice. A 
little to one side was a philanthropist whose annual 
benefactions mounted into eight figures. Three 
or four of them were strangers to him, and among 
these was the surgeon, whose tall figure Cole easily 
recognized despite the fact that he had worn a 
disguise on the other occasions. 

His mind was active while he studied the faces 
about him. Would the green light flash on the 
indicator? Who was the intruder, and was Carlin 
right in the surmise that the documents in the 
filing cases were the object of the mysterious visit? 
For a thief to sneak into an establishment of this 
kind looked like a piece of foolhardy daring to 
Cole. There were nine of them in the room, includ¬ 
ing Miss Brown and himself, and no doubt agents 
and operatives of The Unknown Seven were within 
calling distance. There was a lively tussle ahead of 
the prowler, if he should succeed in getting through 
the wall. 

Ten minutes had passed since the red flashes 
stopped. Cole was beginning to think that the 
intruder had met insuperable obstacles. Perhaps 
he had in some manner learned how to operate 
the elevator, but had failed to familiarize himself 
with the mechanism that controlled the sliding panel 
in the wall. All the while, as these speculations 
ran through Cole's mind, he felt that Carlin was 
watching him out of the tail of an eye. 

“Aren’t you a bit hasty in turning to me with 
your suspicions?” he asked good-naturedly. “I may 
be a twenty-four-carat man, but I am not a worker 
of miracles, and I’d have to be one in order to 


THE RED LIGHT 


hi 


ferret out your secrets on such short acquaintance. 
What about your hired agents?” 

“I trust them as I trust myself. They have been 
tested and found true.” 

Cole smiled engagingly. “Your experience with 
the renegade executive, whom you told me about, 
should have warned you that tests aren’t always 
conclusive. Human nature is about as uncertain as 
April weather.” 

Carlin gave an assenting nod, but the argument 
did not seem to influence him greatly. 

“How will you dispose of the rascal if he gets 
through?” was Cole’s next question. 

“That’s a problem. Our success so far has been 
due largely to the secrecy with which he have sur¬ 
rounded ourselves. We have nothing to fear, and 
no great harm would be done if we should be found 
out, but we prefer to continue to work in the 
dark. So far our absconding executive seems to 
have kept his mouth closed, for nothing has leaked 
out about us. No doubt he is so busy spending 
his thirty pieces of silver that he has no time for 
gabbling. Besides, the scoundrel has a wholesome 
respect for us. He knows that The Unknown 
Seven has a long arm and a sturdy fist. If this 
fellow,” with another glance at the indicator, “should 
get through the wall, we shall have to take meas¬ 
ures to protect our privacy. If we find that he has 
the right stuff in him we may even invite him to 
join us.” 

Another five minutes passed. Some in the group 
showed signs of restiveness. One of them sug- 



II 2 


THE UNKNOWN' SEVEN 


gested going out and collaring the prowler, but 
Carlin vetoed the idea, declaring it would be better 
to give the fellow a chance to show his hand. 

The group resumed its silent waiting. A ques¬ 
tion occurred to Cole, one that he had been on 
the point of asking when Miss Brown’s entrance 
interrupted the conversation in the other room. 

“How is Mr. Reeves?” he inquired. 

Carlin waited for several moments before he 
answered. “There has been no change in his con¬ 
dition in the past twenty-four hours,” he finally an¬ 
nounced. 

“He is still here?” 

The lawyer nodded. He did not seem very com¬ 
municative on that subject. 

“You know, of course,” Cole went on, “that 
it isn’t in strict accordance with the law for you 
to keep him here?” 

A thin smile twisted Carlin’s lips, but his only 
response was a shrug. 

“My duty to my clients gives me an interest in 
the matter,” Cole pointed out. “You are keeping 
Mr. Reeves a prisoner.” 

“By no means. Mr. Reeves is our guest, and 
so far he has not voiced any objections.” He 
gave a grim chuckle. “Furthermore he is in¬ 
finitely better off here than where we found him. 
He would probably have been dead by this time if 
we hadn’t taken him away.” 

“From where?” 

The lawyer’s wintry gaze rested for an instant 
on his face. “From the residence of Professor 


THE RED LIGHT 


i*3 

Carmody, as you probably either know or can 
readily guess.’’ 

“You kidnaped him?” 

“Call it that if you like. We saved Mr. Reeves 
from certain death. Professor Carmody is the 
only one who has cause for feeling aggrieved at 
what we have done.” 

Cole nodded thoughtfully. He had kept Carmody 
under observation for some time, and of late he had 
noticed a change in him. He understood now why 
the professor had seemed excited and ill at ease 
the last few days. His comings and goings had 
been more frequent and there had been several signs 
of something unusual on foot about the house on 
Bleecker Street. 

“So that you may feel quite reassured in the 
matter,” Carlin went on, “let me tell you that Mr, 
Reeves is under excellent care. A specialist is 
studying his condition, and there’s a chance, though 
a very remote one, that he may recover his mental 
faculties, wholly or in part. If he does, I fancy he 
will have a very entertaining story to tell.” 

He looked sharply at Cole just then, as if trying 
to measure the effect of his words, but Cole’s 
face showed nothing but deep thought. He had 
obtained a glimpse into the working methods of 
The Unknown Seven, and he had found fresh proof 
of the efficiency and the resources of the organiza¬ 
tion. A splitter of hairs might not have found its 
methods strictly legal, but there was such a thing 
as the end justifying the means. Quite likely Carlin 
was right in saying tnat Reeves had been rescued 
from certain death at the hands of Professor 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


114 

Carmody. Probably, too, a great deal more could 
be accomplished by this informal course of pro¬ 
cedure than by strict adherence to the letter of the 
law. Cole was so deeply impressed that for the 
moment he forgot that he was under suspicion. 

“If Reeves ever tells his story, Pd like to be 
there/’ he declared. 

“You may have an opportunity to do so,” dryly 
remarked the lawyer. “Until we have satisfied our¬ 
selves on one or two little points we shall have 
to ask you to remain here as our guest. In the 
meantime-” 

A medley of mutters and hushed exclamations 
interrupted him. Instinctively Cole glanced at the 
indicator. A tongue of green flame was shooting 
up and down in the glass globe. Fascinated, he 
watched the darting flashes. 

“Get back!” ordered Carlin, waving a hand at 
the men who stood huddled into a knot before the 
indicator. In his other hand gleamed the barrel 
of a pistol. Cole admired the ease and coolness 
with which he was taking charge of the situation. 
Following the direction of his pointing finger, the 
men crowded into a corner of the room. Miss 
Erown followed them, and, as she crossed the floor, 
she gave Cole a glance that stabbed within him. 

Carlin touched a button; the room went dark. 
Keeping Cole close at his side he took up a posi¬ 
tion a few feet in front of the others. “I must 
warn you not to move,” he whispered in Cole’s ear. 

“Have no fear,” Cole whispered back. “I’m as 
anxious to see this through as you can possibly be.” 

The lawyer’s strategy was simple. If the in- 



THE RED LIGHT 


115 

truder’s aim was to get hold of some 01 the docu¬ 
ments in the filing cases he would probably come 
straight to this room. The fact that he had mas¬ 
tered the mechanism of the elevator and the hidden 
door seemed to indicate that he was fairly well 
familiar with the lay of the establishment. Evi¬ 
dently the lawyer’s plan was to catch him red- 
handed and take him by surprise. 

Cole was conscious of a growing disquietude as 
he stood beside the lawyer, looking in the direc¬ 
tion of the door through which the intruder must 
pass. He had a hazy feeling that Carlin’s plan was 
too simple, but he could not tell exactly what was 
wrong with it. Not a sound was heard in the 
room. The door had been left open a crack, and 
a narrow wedge of light filtered in, but most of 
the room was an impenetrable blur. 

A minute passed. In vain Cole strained his ears 
to catch the sound of approaching footsteps. His 
uneasiness grew, but he could not understand why. 
As if his misgivings had been communicated to the 
lawyer, the latter mumbled something under his 
breath. The moments flew, and still no sound was 
heard in the corridor. Either the intruder’s foot¬ 
falls were thoroughly muffled, or else-- 

Cole did not finish the thought. A vagrant sus¬ 
picion held his senses spellbound. For a moment 
longer he listened for footfalls that did not come, 
and then his vague apprehensions crystallized in a 
flash. He gripped the lawyer’s arm so violently that 
Carlin gasped. 

“You were wrong!” he whispered hoarsely. “The 




ii6 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

fellow isn’t after any papers. He came here to get 
Reeves.” 

Cole, with his hand tightly gripping Carlin’s arm, 
felt a sudden shock shooting through the man at his 
side. In a twinkling the lawyer seemed to have 
grasped his meaning. Now, muttering something, 
he sprang forward. In an instant the lights were 
on again, and Carlin was running toward the door. 
Cole followed, but in a moment the two men came 
to a dead stop. 

A short, piercing cry sounded. It died abruptly, 
leaving a curious emptiness in the air. The two 
men stared at each other, and Cole saw a gray film 
creep over the lawyer’s face. 

“Too late!” he exclaimed. 



CHAPTER X 


PURSUIT 

'T’HE scream had ended with a certain grim 
abruptness that to the listeners could mean 
only one thing. It had seemed to stop in the mid¬ 
dle; yet it had been punctuated with an ominous 
finality. It was as if death itself had stepped in 
and placed an exclamation point after an unfinished 
cry. 

Then came utter silence. It seemed as though 
every sound and every breath of life had 
been sucked out of the air. Carlin, his lips drawn 
apart at one side, looked fixedly at the door. His 
head, shoulders and chest were straining forward; 
he appeared to be maintaining his balance by sheer 
mental tension. A few moments passed, and then 
Cole shook himself free of the insidious horror 
that attacks even the strongest. Less than thirty 
seconds had elapsed since the cry sounded. 

“Where is he?” he asked, shaking the lawyer’s 
arm. 

“He?” Carlin seemed to be trying to shake off 
a spell. “Oh, Reeves, you mean. Back there.” 
He pointed indefinitely toward the corridor. 

“Brace up, man!” Cole shouted. “Go to him. 

Maybe something can be done. Hurry!” 

He bounded to the door and out in the hall. His 
words had voiced a hope that he did not feel. The 
cry had told him only too eloquently that Reeves 
was beyond help. But there might still be time to 


n8 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

catch the murderer, if he made haste. Heedless 
of Carlin’s belated shout to him to stop, he hurried 
down the long and dimly-lighted corridor. Con¬ 
fused cries and scurrying footfalls sounded behind 
him, signifying that the others had come out of 
their temporary stupor. 

Cole shut his ears to the bedlam. All he saw 
and heard was a shadow darting toward the end 
of the hall and a patter of swift feet. At the 
farther end of the corridor, at the point where 
Miss Brown and himself had entered the head¬ 
quarters of The Unknown Seven, was an opening. 
He came up to it just in time to see the fleeing 
shadow slip through. 

“Stop, or I’ll wing you!” he cried, jerking his 
pistol out of his hip pocket, but the fugitive paid 
no heed. Crouching low, he ran with zigzagging 
motions across the open space toward the elevator 
shaft. Cole aimed low and pulled the trigger. The 
bullet thudded against the flagged flooring, and 
through the smoke he saw the fugitive spring into 
the cage. Already the door was clanking shut. He 
plunged forward and kicked his foot into the open¬ 
ing, just in time to stop the sliding door from 
closing. He caught a glimpse of a stiff felt hat, 
a sallow face with a mocking grin, a lean and slightly 
hunchbacked figure, and then the cage shot down¬ 
ward. 

Cole, standing with his right foot caught between 
the door and the steel jamb, muttered a malediction, 
but it was aimed mostly at himself. The little 
hunchback had eluded him with an agility that 
aroused his admiration, even while it made him 


PURSUIT 


119 

grit his teeth. He flung the door wide open. Only 
a few moments had passed since the cage started 
downward, and it had not got far. There was 
something tantalizing about the swiftness with which 
it increased the distance between himself and the 
fleeing man. 

For a moment Cole gauged his chances. He 
gazed at two sets of cables that glided up and 
down inside the shaft. His next move would have 
seemed foolhardy to an onlooker, but Cole had 
carefully measured the risk. It was one of those 
tense moments in which the mind leaps quickly to 
decisions. The time it took him to determine what 
to do was only a matter of seconds. 

He flexed his muscles and then he leaped. For an 
instant his form hurtled through space, then his hands 
closed tightly around the downward gliding cable. 
He wound his legs about it and clamped it between 
his feet. The swift descent made him feel as if he 
were sucking ice-cold air into his lungs. The cage, 
some twenty-five or thirty feet below, was dropping 
like a rock, but now Cole was following at an equal 
rate of progress. 

Ten floors slipped past, then fifteen, finally 
twenty. Cole’s hands were raw and bleeding. Hot 
and cold flashes were chasing up and down his back. 
His lungs were straining, and a treacherous numb¬ 
ness was creeping into his limbs. He looked down 
at the roof of the cage and smiled. No doubt the 
fleeing man felt that his escape was already as good 
as accomplished. 

The cage stopped so suddenly that the vibration 
of the cable almost made Cole lose his hold. He 


120 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


slipped a little farther down, then checked his 
descent opposite the level of the second floor. The 
shaft was narrow, and he could easily reach the 

door with one hand, while he clung to the cable 

with the other. Installed for private and secret 
use the elevator equipment lacked several safety de¬ 
vices that would have acted as a hindrance to Cole. 
As it was the door slid open easily. Seizing the 

jamb with one hand he swung free of the cable 

and landed on the floor. 

He felt a trifle dizzy, but the thrill of pursuit 
acted as a stimulant. Just around the shaft was a 
stairway, and he hurried down. Only a few mo¬ 
ments ago a metallic clanking had signified that 
the fugitive was getting out of the cage. As Cole 
reached the lower steps he saw a long open space 
in front of him, and at its farther end he caught 
a glimpse of the hunchback, slipping out through 
the door. His ears caught the sound of throbbing 
motors, warning him that a car was waiting out¬ 
side to speed the fugitive to safety. Conscious 
of nothing but the exhilaration of the hunter he 
bounded to the door and emerged on the sidewalk, 
just as a tail light gave him a mocking wink and 
disappeared around the corner. 

There was a fine mist in the air. On all sides the 
tops of the tall office buildings reared their heads 
in a translucent haze. The streets, which in the 
daytime swarmed with humanity, were now de¬ 
serted. Cole guessed that it must be about two 
o’clock, but he did not take time to look at his 
watch. The taunt of the tail light egged him 
on. He threw his head back and his chest out 


PURSUIT 


121 


and broke into a sprint. Rounding the corner at 
full speed he once more caught a glimpse of the 
jeering tail light. But it was only a glimpse, for a 
moment later it was out of sight. 

Cole tried to run faster, but he realized that, 
unless something unforeseen happened, he was run¬ 
ning a losing race. The car had the advantage in 
speed and endurance. With scarcely a stop, save 
for the possible interference of a traffic officer, it 
might travel all the way from one end of Manhattan 
to the other. He kept up the pursuit only because 
he hated to cry quits. Besides, as long as he could 
continue the chase, there was always the possibility 
that chance might come to his aid. 

Once more he caught sight of the tail light, 
this time quite a distance ahead. Letting out the 
final ounce of energy he succeeded in quickening his 
speed a little. He ran and ran, but his breathing 
became alarmingly heavy. It would not be long 
before his wind gave out, but at least he w T ould 
have the satisfaction of knowing that he had done 
his best. His gait was growing wabbly when the 
unexpected occurrence for which he had been hop¬ 
ing came along. 

Not even a village street is quite so dead as is 
the financial section of New York in the small 
hours. Skyscrapers, towering in a jungle of silence 
and dim lights, give a majestic touch to a stillness 
that is seldom broken, save by the footfalls of 
policemen and private watchmen. To Cole, there¬ 
fore, it seemed nothing but a stroke of luck that 
a taxicab should come along at that moment. He 
hailed the driver. 


122 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“See that car?” He pointed at the tail light 
twinkling in the distance. “Can you overtake it?” 

“I’ll try,” said the chauffeur, peering at him 
from beneath the visor of his cap. “This is a pretty 
good old boat, though she ain't much on looks. 
Good for a fine if I get pinched?” 

“Sure,” said Cole easily, though not altogether 
unmindful of the slender roll in his pocket. He 
stepped in, and the cab jumped forward. It rattled 
and lurched and creaked in the joints, as if in 
imminent danger of falling to pieces, but he noticed 
with satisfaction that it had a surprising capacity 
for speed. It swerved and slithered at a giddy 
rate, at times almost jogging him out of his seat. 

Pursued and pursuer wound their way out of the 
maze of chopped-up and tangled streets to the south 
of Washington Square. The car ahead swung into 
Fifth Avenue, at a slightly reduced speed, and the 
taxicab slowed down accordingly. From now on it 
was not only easier to keep up with the larger 
car, but there was also less danger of the fugitive 
becoming aware of pursuit, for, even at that hour, 
there was a sprinkling of traffic on the avenue. 

It suddenly dawned on Cole that he was in a 
unique position. The capture of the hunchback now 
seemed certain, but what was he to do with the 
man after he had caught him? If he turned him 
over to the police, which seemed the proper and 
regular thing to do, he would be compelled to tell 
things which, in a sense, he was pledged not to 
reveal. Despite all that had happened and notwith¬ 
standing the harsh treatment inflicted on him, he had 
come away with a rather high opinion of The Un- 


PURSUIT 


123 


known Seven. They had trusted him, at least for 
a time, until the coming of the hunchback turned 
their suspicions against him, and Cole was not in¬ 
clined to violate a trust. 

Now, that he came to think of it, there was 
really very little he could tell, even if he were 
disposed to divulge wdiat he knew. In a strict 
sense he did not know that the hunchback had mur¬ 
dered Reeves. For that matter he did not know 
that Reeves was dead. Though personally con¬ 
vinced on both points he could not tell a convincing 
story to the police, for he had neither witnessed 
the commission of the crime nor seen Reeves’ dead 
body. 

Still another thought came to him as he bobbed 
up and down and from side to side in the cab. 
He gave a short, dazed laugh. Even if he had 
witnessed the deed and seen the body he would 
have been unable to direct the police to the scene 
of the crime. His dizzying descent in the elevator 
shaft had left him a trifle giddy. He had rushed 
away in great haste, his whole mind fixed on the 
one idea that the hunchback must not be permitted 
to get away. In his hurry he had given no thought 
to the location of the building. He had strained 
every nerve and muscle in his efforts to keep the car 
in sight, and there had been no time to notice 
street signs. Like many a New Yorker, he had 
seldom had occasion to visit the financial section, 
and many of the streets in that district were nothing 
but names to him. 

Though there was ample extenuation, Cole 
chided himself for a blunderer. He had missed 


124 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


his chance to learn where the headquarters of The 
Unknown Seven was situated. The general bound¬ 
aries of the neighborhood were a shade more clearly 
defined in his mind, but he knew scarcely more than 
he had known before. The rendezvous of the or¬ 
ganization could be in any one of half a hundred 
buildings. Even if he should stumble upon the 
right one he doubted whether he would recognize it. 

In the midst of his musings the cab stopped with 
a suddenness that jerked him out of his seat. He 
glanced out and saw that the hunchback’s car had 
halted two blocks ahead. They were somewhere in 
the Sixties, and to the west were the black masses 
of the park. The hunchback was getting out and 
turning down the side street, but car and driver 
were proceeding north. 

A suspicion was dawning in Cole’s mind as he 
stepped out of the taxicab. It was rather odd 
that the chase should have ended at this particular 
point. He paid the chauffeur, adding a generous 
tip to the fare. He hurried to the corner where 
the car had stopped and swung into the side street, 
just in time to see the hunchback disappear in the 
shadow of a house. Cole hastened after him, stop¬ 
ping before a dark and somber house with a brown- 
stone front. 

His hazy suspicion was confirmed. It was odd 
how the scattered pieces of the mystery were begin¬ 
ning to dovetail. His pursuit of the hunchback 
had led him to the house of Doctor Dickson Latham. 


CHAPTER XI 


BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR 

T HE moon was shining through a silver-gray 
mist, giving the row of buildings a shadowy ap¬ 
pearance. A fresh fragrance drifted out from the 
park, on the scarcely perceptible breeze. A milk cart 
rattled down the block; otherwise the street was 
deserted. 

Cole peered sharply into the dark basement en¬ 
trance. He suspected the hunchback had entered 
the doctor’s house that way. Down the steps he 
went and tried the knob, but the door was locked. 
The two windows on each side were protected by 
iron bars. He hesitated for a moment, and then he 
mounted the steps to the main entrance and rang 
the bell. There seemed to be nothing else he could 
do, and the shifty-tongued doctor interested him 
strangely. Latham’s evasions would be entertaining, 
if nothing else. 

He waited patiently, for he had many things to 
consider. Just what trend the forthcoming inter¬ 
view was to take he did not know. That the 
hunchback should have taken refuge in the physi¬ 
cian’s house was significant, especially since there 
were good reasons for supposing that Latham was 
responsible for the wrecking of Reeves’ mind. That 
he had also instigated the murder of the maniac 
seemed only a reasonable sequence of the first sup¬ 
position. In this connection Professor Carmody’s 


126 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


visit to the doctor’s house yesterday was a highly 
interesting circumstance. Perhaps the two rogues 
had planned the murder then. 

Cole rang again. At the same time he brushed 
all hasty inferences and surmises from his mind. 
He came back to the point that, as far as hard facts 
were concerned, he knew next to nothing. He did 
not even have a good reason for placing the hunch¬ 
back under arrest. If he turned the fellow over 
to the police he would probably be only laughed 
at for his trouble. The hunchback would brazen 
out of it, and Cole would not have a leg to stand 
on. As for Doctor Latham- 

He rang again more emphatically this time. Then 
he listened to the queer noises which the reverbera¬ 
tions stirred up within the dark house. As for 
Doctor Latham, Cole could hope to do no more 
than draw the doctor out by deftly aimed ques¬ 
tions. It was scarcely to be expected that such a 
slippery individual as Dickson Latham would betray 
himself, yet something might come of the interview. 
The doctor might get careless, or Cole might suc¬ 
ceed in confusing him. 

Once more he reached for the button, but just 
then a step sounded in the hall. The door came 
open. It was the doctor himself who admitted 
his early caller. It was dark where they stood, and 
Cole could see little else than a black beard and a 
long dressing gown, but he fancied there were signs 
of repressed irritation about the doctor, as he recog¬ 
nized his visitor. 

“Ah, it’s you, Mr. Stone. Please step in.” 

The voice was affable enough. Cole followed 



BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR 127 

him through the hall, the reception room, and into 
the physician’s office. When they faced each other 
across the desk, Latham seemed to have recovered 
his usual ease of manners. ‘‘Nerves again, Mr. 
Stone?” he asked pleasantly. 

“No; only a slight headache,” said Cole. 

“And you wish me to prescribe something?” 

“Yes, but it isn’t drugs I want. I came here 
hoping you would cure my headache by removing 
the cause. I have an acute case of flabbergasta- 
tion.” 

Doctor Latham’s bearded lips parted in a thin 
flash of very white teeth. Cole thought there was 
something Machiavellian about the smile. The physi¬ 
cian reached out an arm and passed a box of cigars 
across the desk. A startled gleam flashed into Cole’s 
eyes. The movement of the doctor’s arm had 
wrinkled the sleeve of the dressing gown and ex¬ 
posed a narrow rim of the cuff of his pajama 
jacket. The cuff was pale blue, and just above the 
rim was a stain. 

“I can recommend these perfectos,” said Latham 
genially. 

Cole, easily hiding his surprise, accepted one. 
The doctor struck a match, and the stain became 
visible once more, as he helped Cole to a light. It 
was a fresh blot of a dark tinge, probably not more 
than an hour old. 

“What is it that flabbergasts you, Mr. Stone?” in¬ 
quired the physician, after each man had pulled ap¬ 
preciatively at his cigar. The question was accom¬ 
panied with a slight and seemingly casual glance at 
a door in the rear of the office. 


128 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


The glance had not escaped Cole. He picked his 
words carefully. “Fifteen or twenty minutes ago,” 
he began, “a man entered your house.” 

“Yes?” asked the physician in a toneless voice. 

“A hunchback,” Cole went on, guessing that the 
doctor had carefully hidden the fellow, while Cole 
had been kept waiting outside the door. “He en¬ 
tered your basement, unless I’m mistaken. Odd 
time for a call, doctor.” 

“A physician, as you undoubtedly know, receives 
callers at all hours. Nothing unusual in that.” 

“But you will admit that this fellow’s mode of 
entrance was rather irregular? A physician’s pa¬ 
tients do not usually sneak in the basement way.” 

“Very true, but please come to the point, Mr. Stone. 
You must grant that I have a right to receive vis¬ 
itors any way I choose, even through the chimney, 
if it pleases my fancy. You tell me that a hunch¬ 
back entered my house by the basement door. I 
neither deny nor affirm it, but, without wishing to 
seem rude, may I ask what it is to you?” 

“Suppose the fellow were a criminal?” 

“I never inquire into the moral character of my 
patients. Their physical welfare is all that concerns 
me.” 

“But suppose this individual had committed a 
murder? You would not care to harbor a mur¬ 
derer in your house, would you?” 

A slight flicker of uneasiness showed in the doc¬ 
tor’s eyes. “A murderer ? Aren’t you carrying 
your suppositions rather too far, Mr. Stone?” 

Again he cast a sidelong glance at the inner door. 
Cole sensed a hidden significance in the doctor’s at- 


BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR 


129 


tention to that door. It puzzled him almost as much 
as did the stain on the cuff. He thought quickly, 
estimating how much he stood to gain or lose by a 
direct attack. 

“I’m not supposing,” he declared bluntly. “I 
know there is a murderer in your house.” 

“Oh!” The doctor’s tone was tense and very 
low. “Whom did he murder?” 

“Malcolm Reeves.” 

“Mai—Malcolm Reeves?” In an instant the 
physician had kicked back his chair and was on his 
feet. With the cigar tightly clamped between his 
bearded lips he stared hard at Cole. His eyes were 
bright as metal, but there was a glint of grave con¬ 
cern in their depths. In that moment Cole would 
have been ready to swear that Latham’s consterna¬ 
tion was genuine. 

“Is Reeves dead?” asked the doctor hoarsely. 

Cole gave him a level glance. “He was murdered 
less than two hours ago, and the murderer is in your 
house.” 

The physician stared for a moment longer. An 
indistinct mutter came from his lips. Cole wondered 
whether his face was not pale under the glossy black 
beard. Despite his bewilderment and his feeling 
that the doctor’s emotions were sincere, he glowed 
inwardly with satisfaction. At last Latham’s superb 
composure had been shattered; now he must pursue 
his advantage before the doctor could rally his 
mental forces and ply him with unanswerable ques¬ 
tions. 

“Doctor Latham,” he asked quickly, “do you 


I 3 0 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

deny that there is a hunchbacked fellow in the 
house ?” 

The doctor sat down again. “I don’t feel called 
upon either to deny or affirm it,” he declared. 

Cole leaned forward across the desk. “How did 
that stain get on your cuff, doctor?” 

The physician’s arm was stretched out flat on the 
table, and Cole pointed to the soiled cuff. Latham 
looked down; for an instant, as he saw the blot, his 
eyes widened in astonishment. 

“Oh, that!” He shrugged his shoulders. “I had 
a simple surgical case a while ago. It wasn’t serious 
enough to take to a hospital, so I performed it in 
my own office.” 

“I didn’t know physicians ever performed opera¬ 
tions in their pajamas. No accounting for eccen¬ 
tricities, though. Will you do me a favor, doctor?” 

“That depends. What is it?” 

Cole pointed carelessly to the door at which the 
doctor had been covertly glancing from time to time. 

“I would like to see what is behind that door, 
if you don’t mind,” he remarked languidly. 

Again a gleam of uneasiness crept into the doc¬ 
tor’s eyes. He regarded Cole intently, as if trying 
to ferret out the reason for the request. Cole, a thin 
smile on his lips, was puffing leisurely at his cigar. 

“Why?” demanded the doctor. 

“Just a fancy. You have no objection, I hope?” 

The doctor drew himself up. He sat stiffly erect 
in his chair. A mask seemed to fall from his face. 
Dropping all pretense of geniality, his features took 
on a threatening look. “I don’t care to humor your 
fancy, Mr. Stone,” he declared coldly. 


BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR 131 

With excessive care Cole ashed his cigar. Then 
he got up and, with a slow, but firm, tread, walked 
toward the door in the rear. His fingers closed 
around the knob. 

“Stop!” cried the doctor sharply. 

Cole turned and gave him an amused glance. 

“You are a detective, I suppose?” said Latham. 

“In a way,” admitted Cole modestly. 

“Have you a search warrant?” 

Cole shook his head. 

“Then I must regard you as a trespasser. Mr. 
Stone, the moment you open that door you will be a 
dead man.” 

He reached into a pocket of his dressing gown. 
In the next instant a small pistol glittered bane fully 
in his hand. He raised it till Cole could gaze 
straight into the muzzle. His eyes, as he looked 
ominously at him, emitted the same cold, metallic 
gleam as the barrel of the weapon. 

Cole gave him a long, searching look, and he was 
a keen judge of faces. At the end of the inspection 
he shrugged. “Doctor Latham,” he said evenly, 
“you haven’t the nerve to kill me.” He turned the 
knob and walked in. 


CHAPTER XII 


IN FOUR ROUNDS 

IN stony silence Doctor Latham watched the bold 
* move. As Cole opened the door, a diffident look 
came into his face. He toyed awkwardly with the 
pistol, looked dubiously at the barrel, finally put the 
weapon back in his pocket. “It seems you win this 
round/’ he muttered. 

The room which Cole had entered was dark. His 
hand fumbled along the wall till he found a knob. 
At his pressure a light appeared, and it revealed 
a man sprawled out in a chair. Except that the 
coat had been removed he was fully dressed, and 
it seemed to Cole that he was sound asleep. 

He recognized the sallow face of the hunchback, 
having caught a brief glimpse of it just as the ele¬ 
vator started. It was not a pleasant face. The 
twisted lips looked as though the teeth had been 
bared in a snarl just before the man fell asleep. 
Cole thought he might be a thug or professional 
gunman. He looked away and saw Latham in the 
doorway. 

“You’re a cool one,” murmured the physician, 
a trace of admiration in his tone. “Didn’t you know 
I was ready to shoot you?” 

“You didn’t,” was the laconic answer. 

Latham came closer. He was once more suave 
and genial. Cole fancied his astute brain was at 
work on a scheme of some sort. “Have you seen 


IN FOUR ROUNDS 


133 


enough to repay you for the risk you took?” he 
inquired. “Is this the man you are looking for?” 

Cole nodded. “He’s the one who murdered 
Reeves. Tough-looking customer! What have you 
done to him, doctor?” 

The Machiavellian smile came back. “He was 
in a bad way. I had to give him a hypodermic. 
That’s why his crime, if he committed one, doesn’t 
seem to weigh very heavily on his conscience. What 
are your intentions in regard to my patient, Mr. 
Stone?” 

Cole stepped closer to the recumbent man. The 
fellow looked indeed as though he were deep in 
drug-induced sleep. Cole raised the arm nearest 
him and turned back the shirt sleeve. A little below 
the elbow there was a small puncture. He dropped 
the limp arm and turned away. His head was full 
of perplexities and contradictions. A little while 
ago certain phases of the mystery had seemed to 
dovetail to perfection, but now things were taking 
an incrongruous turn. He felt the physician was 
inwardly laughing at his bewilderment. 

“Well, Mr. Stone?” he inquired softly. 

Cole was in a quandary, but he tried hard not to 
show it. For the present the wily doctor had sev¬ 
eral strategical advantages, and evidently he knew 
how to use them. It would not be easy to take the 
unconscious man away. Even if it could be done, 
Cole would not know where to take him. On the 
other hand, it would not do to let him get away, 
as he undoubtedly would as soon as he recovered 
from the effects of the drug. 

“This man is my patient,” continued the doctor, 


134 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“and I strongly advise against disturbing him for 
the present. I believe a physician’s advice is usually 
heeded in such cases.” 

“Your patient seemed to be in excellent health a 
little while ago,” observed Cole. 

“Really, you must permit me to be the judge as 
to his physical condition.” 

Cole eyed him levelly. “You are a very clever 
man, Doctor Latham. I believe you deliberately 
drugged this so-called patient of yours so that he 
couldn’t be removed. It was a fairly ingenious 
stroke.” 

Latham gave him a curious glance. “That’s a 
very odd way of looking at the situation,” he re¬ 
marked thoughtfully. “I wonder if you aren’t a 
bit disingenuous. However, it doesn’t matter. This 
seems to be my round.” 

His faintly gloating tone nettled Cole, As far 
as he could see he was outmaneuvered on every 
point. Hopeless as the situation seemed to be, he 
was determined not to leave the house a defeated 
man. He rekindled his cigar, then gazed with mild 
reproach at the glowing tip. A cigar never gave 
him the mental stimulus that he derived from his 
musty old pipe at home. Besides, the doctor’s slyly 
amused glances were disconcerting. Cole’s thoughts 
would not travel in a straight line, and he grew 
more uncomfortable as he noticed that his helpless¬ 
ness was beginning to impress the doctor as queer. 

He turned, placed the half-smoked cigar on a 
tray, and glanced through the open door leading 
into the office. The nickel trimmings of a tele¬ 
phone gleamed under the electric drop light over 


IN FOUR ROUNDS 


135 


the desk. The sight of the instrument seemed to 
give Cole an idea. Deliberately he walked into the 
other room and picked up the directory. 

“May I ask what you intend doing?” inquired the 
physician, following him. 

“I know a doctor who lives not far from here,” 
said Cole absently, while he hastily turned the pages 
of the book. “Fm going to call him in for a con¬ 
sultation over your patient. If the fellow is in a 
bad way, two doctors are better than one. If 
there’s nothing wrong with him, I want to know it. 
Ah!” his index finger halted in the center of a page. 
“Plaza 28826.” 

A faint mutter of dismay escaped the doctor. 
He stood at Cole’s back, while the detective put the 
receiver to his ear. 

“A consultation is quite unnecessary, I assure 
you,” declared Latham. 

Cole grinned into the transmitter. He suspected 
Latham would agree to bring his “patient” back to 
consciousness rather than have another physician 
called in. A thousand slight murmurs sounded on 
the wire, and then came the operator’s brisk “Num¬ 
ber, please.” 

Cole spoke the number distinctly. He expected 
Latham would yield rather than suffer a blow to 
his professional reputation, but the physician’s cun¬ 
ning rendered the matter uncertain. And, even if 
his ruse succeeded, Cole would score only a tempo¬ 
rary advantage. He was not yet sure what his 
next move was to be. While waiting for the con¬ 
nection he glanced over his shoulder. Latham, 


136 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

hands clasped at his back, was walking back and 
forth. 

Suddenly Cole's face went blank. A jarring noise 
sounded in his ears. In the next instant he knew 
he was holding a dead instrument in his hand. All 
sounds had abruptly ceased. He heard Latham’s 
triumphant chuckle as he hung up the receiver. 

“It appears the third round is also mine,” mur¬ 
mured Latham, his bearded lips parting in a gratified 
smile. In his right hand he held a pair of steel 
nippers. 

Cole gritted his teeth, but smiled complacently. 
“I would call it a draw,” he said. “Your act of 
cutting the wire was a confession, doctor; a con¬ 
fession that you are up to deviltry. I knew it all 
along, of course, but I’m glad you showed your hand 
so plainly. It’s an advantage to me to know that 
you have something to fear.” 

“I hope you derive a lot of satisfaction from it,” 
declared Latham easily. “I fail to see how it is 
going to do you any practical good, though.” 

Cole himself was not quite clear on that point. 
It was a moral advantage rather than a physical 
one. He gazed steadily at the physician, studying 
the triangular outlines of the black, neatly trimmed 
beard. It was a bit tantalizing to consider how 
many shifting expressions that glossy appendage 
might conceal. It acted as a mask, and he was 
permitted to see through it only when the bearded 
lips parted in a flash of teeth. Just now the face 
told him nothing. It merely gave him an impres¬ 
sion of a man of unfathomable secrets and a deeply 


IN FOUR ROUNDS 1 37 

plotting mind. Cole felt at once baffled and fasci¬ 
nated. 

“I am curious to know what you will try next,” 
said Latham after a long pause. “I don't want to 
seem inhospitable, but I’m getting deucedly sleepy.” 
He yawned ostentatiously. “If you have nothing 

further to propose-” He looked significantly at 

the door. 

Cole considered for a moment longer, then he 
selected the most comfortable chair in the room and 
sat down. With a languid air he stretched out his 
legs and leaned back. “I am worried about your 
patient,” he declared, with a sly wink at the room 
in the rear. “If you have no objection, I’ll hang 
around till he comes to. This is a very comfort¬ 
able chair. Could I trouble you for another of 
those excellent cigars?” 

The doctor stood in front of him, and Cole fan¬ 
cied there was a frown beneath the beard. “You 
are going too far,” said Latham severely. “Sup¬ 
pose I should throw you out?” 

“That would be very rude, doctor. Besides, it 
couldn’t be done.” 

Latham came a step closer. Slowly his crafty 
eyes moved up and down Cole’s figure. Evidently 
he concluded that the languid appearance of the 
man in the chair was deceptive. 

“I might summon help,” he suggested. 

“You might, but I hardly think you will. Being 
a prudent man, you realize it wouldn’t do to stir 
up things. It’s far preferable, from your point of 
view, to confine this interview to ourselves. What 
about another of those cigars, doctor?” 



133 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Latham did not move. His eyelids narrowed a 
trifle as he continued to gaze at Cole. ‘‘You puz¬ 
zle me,” he declared. “You come here represent¬ 
ing yourself to be a detective, but your conduct is 
very peculiar. You say the hunchback in the other 
room is a murderer, but you have made no move 
toward arresting him.” 

“I am naturally lazy,” confessed Cole blandly, 
“and it would be too much of an exertion to carry 
the fellow out of here on my back.” 

“Have you a warrant for his arrest?” 

“None is needed,” said Cole easily, though he per¬ 
ceived that the conversation was taking a danger¬ 
ous turn. “It is enough that I have reasonable 
cause for believing that the man has committed a 
felony.” 

His tone faltered slightly on the word “reason¬ 
able.” In his imagination he could picture the faces 
of the police officials, if he should undertake to tell 
them what had happened. 

Latham continued his piercing scrutiny for a few 
moments longer. “You looked to me like an im¬ 
postor,” he declared. “Til wager you haven’t even 
so much as a pair of handcuffs on your person.” 

Cole jerked himself up straight in the chair. 
His twinkling eyes bespoke an inspiration. From 
his pocket he drew a small pair of steel links. 
“Small, but substantial,” he said musingly. “A 
friend gave them to me once. I have so little use 
for them that I wouldn’t carry them around except 
for the fact that they are so light and take so little 
space in the pocket. Once, in an unexpected pinch. 


IN FOUR ROUNDS 139 

they proved handy, and I have been carrying them 
ever since.” 

He got up and briskly walked into the room in 
the rear. A muffled exclamation escaped the doctor, 
as Cole fastened one of the links around the hunch¬ 
back’s wrist. Then, with surprising ease, he lifted 
the man out of the chair and carried him to an 
operating table in a corner of the room. 

“What are you doing?” inquired Latham sharply, 
too amazed at Cole’s conduct to be able to interfere. 

A short laugh was Cole’s only answer. He 
stretched the unconscious man out on the operating 
table. 

“Are you crazy?” spluttered the doctor. 

“What-” He stopped short as he saw Cole’s 

intention, but now it was too late to act. Cole had 
placed the limp figure in such a way that the arm, 
from which the steel links dangled, was hanging 
down along the side of the table. In a twinkling 
he had fastened the other link around one of the 
iron legs. The unconscious man was now securely 
chained to the table. 

Cole turned and regarded the physician with a 
good-humored expression. “My round, and its as 
good as a knock-out,” he observed. 

Latham stared dumfoundedly. He saw what had 
happened, but he appeared at a loss to grasp the 
meaning of it. “What do you hope to gain by 
such tomfoolery?” he demanded. 

“A lot,” said Cole softly. “Your patient can’t 
get away unless he takes the table with him, and 
that would attract attention. A fleeing murderer is 
under quite a handicap when he is chained to an 



140 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


operating table. I notice it is all iron and strongly 
built. The legs are soldered to the top, so it won’t 
be easy to take it apart. A skilled craftsman could 
do it, but I believe you have a strong aversion 
against calling in outsiders.” 

The cold gleam in Latham’s eyes told that he 
understood. His gaze was fixed in a speculative 
way on the two steel links. 

“They could be filed off,” admitted Cole, guess¬ 
ing his thoughts, “but it would take a long time 
to get through the chilled steel of which they are 
made. An expert might be able to unlock them, 
but there again you are hampered by your preju¬ 
dice against outsiders. You can’t slip the link off 
the iron leg, for the braces down below prevent 
that. Barring accidents, I think my man will stay 
here till I’m ready to come and get him.” 

Doctor Latham seemed a trifle dazed. He ran 
his fingers awkwardly through his beard while look¬ 
ing bewilderedly at* Cole. “You are an astounding 
person/’ he declared. 

“You are another, doctor.” Cole smiled engag¬ 
ingly. “Sorry to have interrupted your night’s rest. 
Are you going to charge me for this visit? I be¬ 
lieve it was ten dollars last time.” 

“Go to blazes!” said Doctor Latham. He stood 
motionless beside the unconscious man, while Cole 
walked out of the room. 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE MORNING’S MAIL 

J UST as the clock struck eleven, the following 
morning, Kingdon Cole emerged in a tingle 
and glow from his cold shower. He had retired 
shortly before dawn, so he had considered himself 
entitled to sleep till a late hour, and now he felt 
the exuberant strength and freshness that make a 
man eager for work. 

He stepped to the window, raised the shade, and 
looked out upon a gray and drizzly world. He 
scowled a little. Like all highly sensitized persons, 
he was easily susceptible to the weather. When the 
sky was clouded, his face was apt to wear a frown. 
When the sun shone, his face shone with it. A 
glance in the evening at the weather forecast could 
have told him what mood he was to be in the next 
day, granting that weather predictions were always 
accurate. 

He turned from the window as Toots, with a 
plaintive “meow,” rubbed her curled back against 
his leg. “Hungry?” inquired Cole, locking at the 
cat with an expression of grave responsibility. 

Toots held her tail erect and seemed to think 
the question wholly superfluous. With a dutiful 
air Cole brought in the milk bottle, also two letters 
which he found outside his door. After a glance 
at the handwriting he tossed them on the table and 
proceeded to appease Toots’ hunger. He went about 
it with all the awkwardness of an overgrown boy. 


142 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


spilling a part of the milk beside the saucer, then 
stood aside and watched Toots lick it up. 

Over his coffee and toast, a few minutes later, 
he started to read his mail. One of the letters was 
addressed in a strange feminine handwriting, and 
he opened it first. He suddenly stopped eating and 
took in the contents at a glance. The note read: 

“Come back. I trust you. Miss B.” 

Beneath the signature was a row of X’s. Cole 
counted seven of them; they were the insignia of 
The Unknown Seven, of course. It was gratify¬ 
ing to know that the mysterious Miss Brown still 
had faith in him, despite the suspicions of the other 
members of the organization, but her frankness 
puzzled him. If the others thought him guilty of 
duplicity, why did she not think likewise? She 
had seen and heard precisely the same things that 
the others had seen and heard. As far as he knew, 
she had no facts on which her favorable opinion of 
him could have been based. What, then, was the 
reason for her attitude? 

“Woman’s intuition, I suppose,” mused Cole with 
a glance at Toots. “That probably accounts for it. 
But how does the charming Miss Brown expect 
me to find my way back to the headquarters of 
The Unknown Seven? To locate the building would 
be about as ticklish a job as finding a needle in a 

haystack. I don’t see why she-* Yes, I dot 

She has naturally taken it for granted that I had 
sense enough to make a mental note of the street 
and number when I made my hasty exit last night. 
She doesn’t know what a half-cocked idiot I am. 
Shucks!” 


THE MORNING’S MAIL 


143 


Cole made a wry face. Somehow he must man¬ 
age to find the headquarters of The Unknown 
Seven. Unless he answered Miss Brown’s sum¬ 
mons, she would naturally suppose that her faith in 
him had been misplaced and that he was remaining 
away because of a sense of guilt. Cole resolved he 
would canvass every block in lower Manhattan 
before permitting such a thing to happen. How 
to go about it was another matter, however. A sys¬ 
tematic search would eventually lead him to the 
building, but that would mean a waste of valuable 
time. He must find the headquarters of The Un¬ 
known Seven without delay, not only because Miss 
Brown had faith in him, but also for the more prac¬ 
tical reason that he would not know what to do 
with the hunchback until he had positive knowledge 
of Malcolm Reeves’ death. 

He had no fear that his prisoner would escape 
from Doctor Latham’s house. He had left the 
hunchback in a predicament from which the astute 
physician would not be able to release him without 
a great deal of difficulty; but Cole did not depend 
on that alone. Tony Pinto, a ragged urchin whose 
habitat was the picturesquely squalid section around 
Chatham Square, was watching the doctor’s resi¬ 
dence. Cole, who had earned the lad’s everlasting 
gratitude by once doing him a small service, had 
instructed him to keep a sharp eye on the place. 
Tony had the wits of a fox and the legs of a deer, 
and a great ambition to become a detective. If 
an attempt should be made to spirit the hunchback 
away, Tony would find it out and report to Cole 
instantly. 


144 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Finishing his breakfast he lighted his pipe and 
composed himself for hard thinking. The tobacco 
smoke grew so thick in the room that Toots blinked 
at him reproachfully. Suddenly an idea came to 
him. He recalled having heard Grover Carlin say 
that a number of the members of The Unknown 
Seven had offices in the building. Cole had recog¬ 
nized several of the members, the previous evening, 
from photographs that had appeared from time to 
time in the newspapers, in connection with their 
social and financial activities. Right here was a 
clew to the location of the headquarters. 

He picked up the telephone directory and found 
the name of Vincent de Witte, one of the men 
whom he had recognized. He glanced at the finan¬ 
cier’s office address, and he saw his clew slipping 
out of his fingers. The address was somewhere in 
Union Square, much too far north to be anywhere 
near the building he was searching for. Next he 
looked up the address of Stephen Aldrich, but with 
no more success. The philanthropist’s offices, ac¬ 
cording to the directory, were in the Times Square 
district. 

Cole tried two other names, then tossed the book 
away in disgust. It came to him that men like De 
Witte and Aldrich were engaged in multifarious 
enterprises and probably had two or more suites of 
offices in different sections of the city. Likely as 
not the business enterprises which they were con¬ 
ducting in the headquarters building were under 
corporate names, not generally known to the public. 
It was not to be expected that men so shrewd as 
The Unknown Seven had proven themselves to be 


THE MORNING’S MAIL 145 

would leave even the remotest clew to the location 
of their rendezvous. Cole saw he must try some¬ 
thing else. 

He gazed hard into the monkey’s face graven into 
the bowl of his pipe. What with the drizzle out¬ 
side and the chaotic condition of his mind, he 
scowled into the tobacco haze that surrounded him. 
Why the deuce hadn’t Miss Brown telephoned him 
instead of mailing him a letter? Why was it that 
women of her type were so prone either to under¬ 
rate or overrate the intelligence of the sterner sex? 
They never accepted men at their true valuation, 
but their opinions were always colored by bias of 
one kind or another. Cole squinted at Toots while 
these thoughts ran through his mind. He had a 
distinct impression that that dainty specimen of 
femininity always regarded him with a sort of 
lofty tolerance. Miss Brown, on the other hand * 
Suddenly he remembered the other letter. At 
first glance he had recognized the cramped hand 
of Hector Englebreth’s secretary. He snipped off 
the margin of the envelope. Without doubt the 
letter contained a sharp reminder that Cole had 
promised to give his client a supplementary report 
on the condition of Malcolm Reeves. He antici¬ 
pated a crisply phrased note as he drew out the 
inclosure. Then a surprise came to him. The 
envelope contained not only a letter, but a check 
besides. It was for a generous amount. Evidently 
his client had sent him something on account. 
Thoughtful of Englebreth! Cole put the check 
aside and glanced at the note, and then he received 
a second surprise. He read: 


146 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


4 ‘Dear Sir: Mr. Englebreth desires me to notify 
you that he no longer requires your services. In¬ 
closed please find check for services rendered to 
date.” 

Cole stared hard at the few typewritten lines. 
The stiffly worded communication was signed by 
Hector Englebreth’s secretary. The prim type and 
the severe plainness of the engraved name and 
address in the upper left-hand corner seemed to 
convey a breath of the heavy, tomblike atmosphere 
that pervaded the Englebreth house. 

He chuckled lightly as he flung the letter aside. 
It was not the first time that his independent con¬ 
duct had lost him a client, and the fact that he was 
now cut off from all official contact with the Reeves 
mystery did not worry him in the least. There was 
nothing to prevent him from attacking the prob¬ 
lem on his own account. The curt dismissal puz¬ 
zled him, however. He wondered what he had 
done to displease Englebreth. His client’s warning, 
spoken just as Cole was leaving the somber old 
house the other day, flashed across his mind. 

“Be careful,” Englebreth had said. 

The words had had a cryptic sound. Cole had 
wondered at their meaning then, and he wondered 
now. Had Englebreth dismissed him because of his 
failure to heed a warning which he had not under¬ 
stood? Once before it had occurred to him that 
perhaps his client had learned, in some mysterious 
manner, of his relations with The Unknown Seven. 
Was that what had been in Englebreth’s mind when 
he uttered that strange warning? Did his client 
suspect that Cole was betraying him by conduct- 


THE MORNING’S MAIL 


147 


ing secret negotiations with an enemy? The idea 
did not seem very plausible, but he could think of 
no other solution. On the whole he felt Englebreth 
had treated him rather shabbily. He had worked 
hard and loyally on the case. The abrupt dismissal 
was, in reality, a reflection on his honesty. In his 
resentment he resolved to demand an explanation 
of his former client. 

He glanced dubiously at the telephone, recalling 
that on several occasions Englebreth had expressed 
a dislike to holding conversations over the wire, and 
he decided that an interview, face to face, would 
be more satisfactory. He poured out another sau¬ 
cerful of milk for Toots, and half an hour later he 
was ringing the doorbell of the Englebreth house 
on Fifth Avenue. 

The drizzle and the leaden sky conferred an 
added touch of melancholy upon the dismal man¬ 
sion. The chill, which he always felt on entering 
the house, had a keener edge this time. The rooms, 
with the window shades lowered as always, seemed 
darker and more oppressively silent than usual. 
The manservant who admitted him regarded him 
with an air of thinly veiled suspicion. 

‘Til see if Mr. Englebreth is at home, sir,” he 
announced. His feet made no sound as he crossed 
the thickly carpeted floor and passed through a 
door that turned silently on its hinges. In a few 
moments he was back. “Mr. Englebreth is not at 
home,” he declared, dropping the habitual “sir.” 

Cole got up from his chair and gave the servant 
a playful poke in the ribs. It was a grotesque 


148 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


piece of levity in that house of frigid dignity, but 
he could not resist the temptation. 

“You’re a cheerful liar,” he told the man. Then, 
while the servant gaped after him in a scandalized 
way, he strode to the door of the library and pushed 
it open. In his wheel chair, beside the black walnut 
table, sat Hector Englebreth. A faint color tinged 
his white face as he saw the detective. 

“Good morning, Mr. Englebreth,” said Cole 
genially, and he drew up a chair and sat down. 
“I know that ‘not at home’ is a polite way of say- 
ing ‘get out,’ and so I walked right in. Hope you 
don't mind.” 

Englebreth leaned forward in the chair and 
scowled forbiddingly. His long white fingers beat 
a restless tattoo on the table. “Why have you 
come ?” he demanded. “Did you not receive my 
letter?” 

“I did, and the check, too. Many thanks. The 
check was quite satisfactory, but the letter left too 
many things unsaid. I am here to ask you why I 
am being fired off the job.” 

Englebreth glanced meaningly at the door. In¬ 
stead of the long dressing gown which he usually 
wore, he was dressed in a suit of plain gray. 

“I shall be going out in a few minutes,” he de¬ 
clared stiffly. 

“It won't take you long to answer my question. 
Don't you think I am entitled to an explanation.” 

“Of course, if you insist. I instructed my secre¬ 
tary to write you after I had consulted my wife 
about the matter. Since it is her brother’s life that 
is at stake, she is more vitally concerned than I am, 


149 


THE MORNING’S MAIL 

so I thought it only proper that she should have 
her say. After I had placed certain facts before 
her, she agreed with me that your usefulness to us 
is past.” 

“Certain facts? What were they?” 

“I think you know,” said Englebreth in a hard, 
dry tone. His deep-set eyes, oddly brilliant in con¬ 
trast to his pale face, regarded Cole accusingly. I 
am disappointed in you, Mr. Cole. You impresse 
me as an upright, honest man, and I had hoped for 
better things from you. One of the harshest expe¬ 
riences in life is the discovery that one has placed 
his trust in a person who isn’t worthy of it.” 

Cole’s face hardened, and there was an ominous 
gleam in his eye. “I think you had better explain 
that statement, Mr. Englebreth,” he said with slow 
emphasis. 

Englebreth shrugged. “You are not candid with 
me. You know quite well what I mean, so why 
pretend? For instance, can you look me straight in 
the eyes and tell me that you gave a full and truth¬ 
ful report when you were here the other day? 

“It was truthful,” said Cole, “and as complete 
as I could make it under the circumstances. If I 
did not tell quite all I knew, it was because I was 
uncertain in regard to some of the facts. 

A wraith of a smile twisted Englebreth’s thin 
lips “And what about the warning I gave you? I 
hoped it would serve as a hint that I was aware of 
certain mysterious movements on your part. Why 
did you disregard it?” 

A long silence ensued. Each man gazed sharply 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


150 

into the other’s eyes. There was a glint of steel 
in Cole’s, a look of stern reproach in Englebreth’s. 

“Well?” said the invalid. The pale, mirthless 
smile was still hovering about his lips. “What have 
you to say, Mr. Cole?” 

“You have been spying on me evidently?” 

“You are using an unpleasant word. I have 
merely verified certain suspicions that concern you. 
I have also discovered certain facts which you have 
seen fit to conceal from me, facts which have a 
direct bearing on the fate of my brother-in-law. I 
don’t think there is anything further to be said.” 

Cole got up. He could not understand where, 
or by what means, the invalid had obtained his in¬ 
formation, but it was evident that Englebreth’s mind 
was made up, and that no amount of argument 
could make him change his views. 

“You are wrong, Mr. Englebreth,” he said evenly. 
“A lot of queer things have happened, things I 
don’t understand myself. But, believe it or not, I 
have played fair with you from beginning to end. 
Some time before long I hope to prove it to you.” 

“Indeed!” said Englebreth. “I am sure it will 
be interesting.” 

His tone and the smile that accompanied the 
words made Cole instinctively clench his fists. Then 
he turned away, before his anger should get the 
better of him, and hurried from the house. Out in 
the drizzle and under the gray sky he shook off 
his resentment and laughed at himself. It was 
ridiculous that a peevish old invalid should make 
him lose his temper. Some day, when he had 
probed the Reeves affair to the bottom, he would 


V/ 

THE MORNING’S MAIL 151 

make Englebreth eat his words, just now he had 
more important things to consider than the asper¬ 
sions of an infirm old man. 

He crossed the street and was about to board a 
bus when he chanced to look back and saw r a large 
car draw up in front of the house. A moment 
later the massive front door opened, and two serv¬ 
ants appeared, carrying Englebreth between them. 
They assisted him into the car, and Cole gazed 
speculatively after the vehicle, as it glided away 
down Fifth Avenue. It was a rare thing for Engle¬ 
breth to venture beyond the gloomy confines of his 
house, and Cole wondered where he might be going. 
Perhaps he was about to get into touch with his 
mysterious source of information. In that case 
Cole might learn a great deal by following him. 

“Taxi, sir,” said a voice, and a cab slowed down 
at the corner where he stood. Cole’s hesitation 
lasted only a moment longer. 

“Follow that green car over there,” he directed. 
The chauffeur nodded, and Cole jumped in. The 
pursuit proved long and devious; again and again 
Cole chided himself for wasting valuable time. 
Then the green car stopped in front of an office 
building, and the chauffeur went inside. Cole dis¬ 
missed the taxi and took up a position across the 
street. From where he stood he could catch an 
occasional glimpse of Englebreth through the partly 
shaded window of the car. 

“Guess I’m chasing a wild goose,” he glumly told 

himself. 

Englebreth’s chauffeur reappeared, accompanied 
by another man, and the two lifted the invalid from 


152 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


the car and carried him inside the building. Slowly 
Cole started to cross the street. The man assisting 
the chauffeur seemed to carry his part of the bur¬ 
den awkwardly, and Cole could hear the infirm 
man’s peevish protests. The two men entered an 
elevator with their load, and the cage started up¬ 
ward, just as Cole stepped inside the building. 

A strange, unaccountable feeling came over him 
as he gazed after the disappearing lift. He was 
conscious of a faint tingling from head to foot. 
With an abstracted look in his eyes he gazed up¬ 
ward, then to the sides. He moved about along the 
row of elevators, and even his footfalls had a curi¬ 
ous sound, a sound that he seemed to vaguely rec¬ 
ognize. The elevator starter approached and in¬ 
quired what he was looking for, but Cole only 
shook his head in a preoccupied way. 

Suddenly he laughed aloud. In a twinkling all 
his confused impressions clarified. Once more he 
glanced upward. He knew, though he could not 
tell why or how, that far overhead was the rendez¬ 
vous of The Unknown Seven. 


CHAPTER XIV 

cole's ruse 

/^OLE’S conviction that he had found the build- 
ing occupied by The Unknown Seven was a 
matter of instinct rather than reason. He felt that 
once before, and not so long ago, his feet had trod 
the squares of stone that composed the floor. The 
surroundings had a remotely familiar appearance; 
perhaps he had subconsciously caught a glimpse of 
them as he rushed out in pursuit of the hunchback. 
Along the wall opposite the elevators was a row 
of small shops, a cigar store, a haberdashery, a 
news stand, and, on the corner, the office of a 
broker. Cole glanced at the signs, and they stirred 
hazy recollections in the back of his mind. 

There could be no doubt of it; chance and Mr. 
Englebreth had led him to the very place he had 
been most anxious to find. 

On the wall in the back was a directory of the 
tenants. “Security Building ,, it said at the top, and 
the very name smacked of conservatism, stability, 
and decorum. It spelled efficiency and prose and 
left the imagination untouched. It hinted of things 
far removed from the secret activities of the group 
of strange men who occupied the top floor. He 
ran his eyes down the names of corporations and 
individuals, but there was none that interested him. 
Among the former were probably several in which 
members of The Unknown Seven were concerned, 
but he had no means of identifying them. 


154 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


He turned away and grinned sheepishly, as he 
noticed that the elevator starter was squinting at 
him in a suspicious way. There were five eleva¬ 
tors, but, after he had seen them all come up and 
down, he knew that none of them was the auto¬ 
matic one used privately by the members of the 
organization. For a time he was puzzled. At the 
farther side of the shaft was a door marked “Pri¬ 
vate, ’ and beyond this a flight of stairs. No doubt 
they were the same stairs he had rushed down the 
night before, after stopping his dizzy descent at 
the second floor. 

But it was the door between the stairs and the 
shaft that claimed his interest. The single word, 
“Private,” stenciled in black letters on a golden- 
brown surface, piqued his curiosity. It was plainly 
a hint to strangers to keep out. Signs of that kind 
had held a strong fascination for Cole ever since 
he was a boy. It was just as if some one had dared 
him to pass through the forbidden door. He tried 
it furtively, though well aware of the starter’s 
oblique scrutiny. It was locked, as he had expected, 
but the word, “Private,” continued to tantalize him. 
What could be on the other side of the locked door? 
The office of the superintendent of the building, 
perhaps. Or, maybe, the establishment of a mail¬ 
order concern that did not care for personal rela¬ 
tions with its customers. On the other hand it 
might be only a storeroom where the scrub women 
kept their mops and brooms and buckets. All these 
guesses seemed plausible enough, but Cole strongly 
suspected something entirely different. Unless he 


COLE’S RUSE 


155 

were greatly mistaken, the door was the entrance 
to the private elevator. 

Wishing to verify his surmise, he walked up to 
the starter and, in a tone which might have signi¬ 
fied that he was an agent for the building depart¬ 
ment or the inspector of an insurance company, 
inquired by whom the private door was being used. 

“A bunch of nuts,” said the starter, moved to 
loquacity by Cole’s official air. 4 ‘They come an’ go 
at all hours. They’s some big bugs among ’em, too. 
Guess they belong to wunna them secret societies.” 

Cole tried to learn more, but the man became 
suddenly tight-lipped and referred him to the super¬ 
intendent of the building for further information. 
“It's agin’ my orders to talk about the tenants,” 
he added. 

Cole nodded understanding^ and stepped aside. 
The locked door seemed to bar further progress 
for the present. Just then he remembered his origi¬ 
nal errand. He had almost forgotten Englebreth. 
The cage into which he had seen the invalid car¬ 
ried had just reached the ground floor and was 
disgorging passengers. Cole waited till it was ready 
to make another trip, then stepped in and slipped 
a small bill into the operator’s hand. 

“You carried up a crippled person some ten or 
fifteen minutes ago,” he said in an undertone. 
“Where did he go?” 

“Oh, him!” The operator grinned as he stuffed 
the bill into a pocket. “He comes here every now 
and then. You’ll find him in 2512, sir. It’s the top 
floor.” 

Cole got out on the twenty-fifth floor. To all 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


156 

outward appearances it was, indeed, the top floor 
of the building. The elevator shaft terminated in 
a blank ceiling, and the stairs in the back extended 
no higher. It was somewhat tantalizing to know 
that directly above him, and yet completely out of 
reach, was the rendezvous of The Unknown Seven. 

Cole paused outside the door numbered 2512, but 
he did not knock. He could think of no pretext 
for seeking another interview with Englebreth. The 
office, as was indicated by the sign on the frosted 
glass, was occupied by the Bureau of Civil Research, 
and he made a mental note of the fact. He could 
see no particular significance in Englebreth’s visit 
to a place of that kind. No doubt the Bureau of 
Civic Research was one of the numerous activities 
that his former client cultivated as a hobby. As far 
as his original purpose was concerned it looked as 
though Cole had wasted his time, but there was 
consolation in the fact that he had incidentally 
found the headquarters of The Unknown Seven. 
For the moment, however, he did not see how he 
was to profit by his discovery. 

He descended, cast a mildly baffled glance at the 
private door, and went out to lunch. It seemed as 
if there was nothing for him to do but loiter in 
the vicinity of the building and wait for one of the 
members to appear. Idleness irked him, however, 
and he disliked the thought that such a small thing 
as a locked door was standing in his way. He 
cudgled his brain for an idea, as he strolled out 
of the restaurant. 

Suddenly he found one, and he walked two blocks 
and ducked into a subway entrance. Soon he was 


COLE’S RUSE 


157 


aboard an uptown train, bound for Doctor Latham’s 
residence. He suspected that in the pockets of the 
hunchback he would find a key that would unlock 
the door. If his guess had been correct, and the 
door opened into the elevator used by The Un¬ 
known Seven, then the hunchback must have passed 
through that very door the previous night. He 
could not have done so unless he had a duplicate 
key. He might have thrown it away, of course, 
but the chances were that it was still in his pos¬ 
session. 

Cole looked sharply about him as he walked down 
the block in which the doctor resided. He knew 
Tony was lurking somewhere in the neighborhood, 
but the youngster had a surprising knack at mak¬ 
ing himself inconspicuous when the occasion de¬ 
manded it. He rang the doctor’s doorbell and was 
told by the white-capped attendant who admitted 
him that the physician was engaged with a patient. 
Cole waited in the reception room. Evidently 
Latham did not permit his other enterprises to inter¬ 
fere with his practice, for several patients were 
waiting to consult him. 

Presently the door opened, and the doctor arched 
his brows as he 9aw Cole in the waiting group. 
After a moment’s hesitancy he motioned him to 
enter the consulting room. 

“How is the patient, doctor?” inquired Cole 
briskly, glancing at the door in the rear. 

Latham stroked his glossy beard. “As well as 
can be expected, considering the awkward position 
you left him in. He has difficulty getting about.” 


153 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

“Then you have not yet succeeded in extricating 
him from his embarrassing predicament?” 

“Oh, no!” said the doctor with a dry laugh. “I 
haven’t even tried. I just removed him to one of 
the spare bedrooms upstairs. He was in the way 
down here. You wish to have a talk with him, I 
suppose? I fear it is impossible. He grew hys¬ 
terical a while ago, and I had to give him a seda¬ 
tive.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I just want to look at him.” 

Latham gave him a queer glance, then he smiled 
knowingly. “I see,” he murmured. “You wish to 
make sure that he hasn’t escaped, despite the handi¬ 
cap you imposed on him. This way.” 

He opened a door and preceded Cole up a flight 
of stairs. They entered a room, and Cole saw the 
hunchback stretched out on the operating table and 
sound asleep. The physician watched him narrowly 
as Cole stepped up to the recumbent man and began 
to explore his pockets. A blank look came into the 
doctor’s eyes when Cole, with a murmur of satis¬ 
faction, extracted a key. 

“As I observed once before,” said Latham, “you 
are a most astounding person. I wonder what the 
significance of that key might be.” 

“Every key has a mission, doctor, and that is to 
unlock some door.” 

The physician regarded him thoughtfully. “I 
don’t understand you at all. You do such unex¬ 
pected things. I am still wondering what your in¬ 
tentions are with respect to my patient.” 

“For the present my only concern is that he shan’t 
get away.” 


COLE’S RUSE 


*59 


The doctor pondered for a few moments longer, 
then he shrugged his shoulders, and the two men 
walked down the stairs in silence. As they reached 
the consultation office and were about to pass into 
the outer room, Latham paused with his hand on 
the doorknob. “Would it surprise you very much,” 
he asked in slow, incisive accents, “if I were to tell 
you that I am just as anxious as you can possibly 
be that the fellow upstairs shan’t get away?” 

Cole’s eyes opened wide. “No, it wouldn’t sur¬ 
prise me. I would simply be unable to follow you. 
You are a deep one, doctor; nothing that you could 
say or do would startle me.” 

Latham’s face relaxed in a smile. “I construe 
that as a compliment. Please appease my curiosity 
on one point. You have taken extraordinary pre¬ 
cautions against my patient escaping, but what about 
myself? Aren’t you afraid that I might run away?” 

“I am not,” said Cole emphatically. “You are 
not the kind that runs away. You work by subtler 
means than that. Where men of coarser mentality 
would kill an undesirable person, you merely ren¬ 
der him harmless. If, later on, it should prove 
absolutely necessary to remove him, you hire another 
man to perform the nasty job. Your sensitive soul 
shrinks from vulgar tactics and sordid actons. For 
the same reason you don’t run away from danger. 
Instead, you plan your moves so carefully in advance 
that the risk is reduced to the lowest possible mini¬ 
mum, and flight becomes unnecessary.” 

It was a rather blunt speech, and Cole had spoken 
so plainly only because he wished to watch the 
effect on the doctor. In the end he was disap- 


i6o 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


pointed. The expansive beard concealed all out¬ 
ward signs of emotion; the face was no more ex¬ 
pressive than a wooden image. For just a moment 
the eyes shone with a cold gleam, but that was all. 
When Cole had finished, the bearded lips parted 
in a pleased smile. 

“Thanks,” murmured Latham. “Too bad we 
appear to be enemies. I like you immensely—I 
really do.” 

He held the door open and Cole went out. As 
he walked toward the subway he was almost inclined 
to share the doctor’s regret that they were enemies. 
There was something at once attractive and repellent 
about Latham. His subtleties, his cool audacity, 
and his flashing wits made him a charming person¬ 
ality, and there was a certain fascination even about 
his cold cynicism and conscienceless manner. Cole 
came away from the doctor’s house with a spell 
hanging over him. But, aside from these things, 
there were phases of Latham’s character that he 
could not understand. Stray remarks, which the 
doctor had dropped, and certain telltale gestures 
and mannerisms lingered in his memory while he 
rode downtown. 

“A fascinating riddle and a highly accomplished 
villain,” was his way of summing up the doctor’s 
many-sided personality, as he got out of the sub¬ 
way and turned toward the Security Building. 

He entered and, key in hand, walked direct to 
the private door. The elevator starter gave him 
an astonished glance, but did not interfere. The 
key fitted easily. Cole opened the door and stepped 
in, then quickly closed it behind him. He was in 


COLE’S RUSE 


161 


a narrow cage, with a small electric bulb at the 
top. He looked about him in bewilderment, for 
there was no sign of any apparatus by which the 
elevator could be started. Carlin had told him that 
there was a peculiar mechanism that could be oper¬ 
ated only by the initiated, but all Cole saw was a 
dial with figures along the rim and a knob in the 
center. It looked like the combination lock of a 
safe. 

He twirled the knob back and forth, but without 
result. He tried several different combinations on 
the dial, but the elevator refused to budge. With 
ingrained stubbornness he persisted in his efforts, 
but in the end he was forced to confess that the 
task was beyond him. He was on the point of get¬ 
ting out when a key grated in the lock. A moment 
later the door came open, and Miss Brown entered 
the cage. 

She started slightly as she saw him. Cole looked 
at her, and his frown melted. She was simply, but 
charmingly, attired in a tailor-made suit of some 
soft, gray material the name of which was not in¬ 
cluded in Cole’s vocabulary. 

“Oh, you came!” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, but I didn’t get very far.” Cole regarded 
her with a half humorous, half reproachful glance. 
Her plain little hat set off to perfection the lily- 
white complexion and the hair like ruffled sunshine. 
“How did you expect me to manipulate the contrap* 
tion ?” 

“I didn’t really expect you to,” she told him, 
while she whirled the knob back and forth a num- 


162 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

ber of times. “In fact, I was sure it would stump 
you, but the others had their doubts on that point/' 

“I see,” said Cole dryly, as the cage rocketed 
upward. “If I had shown that I knew how to oper¬ 
ate the mechanism I would have convicted myself 
of duplicity, and the suspicions of the others would 
have been confirmed. But don’t you see that a man 
who is clever enough to ferret out secrets while 
blindfolded would not betray himself so flagrantly?” 

There was a twinkle of mirth in her deep-blue 
eyes. “Clever men are often vain. You might have 
construed my note as a challenge to your dexterity; 
It wasn’t that, of course. It was only a test of your 
honesty.” 

“And now you are convinced?” 

“I was practically convinced before, but the others 
needed proof.” 

“What convinced you?” 

The blue eyes regarded him shrewdly, almost im¬ 
personally. Cole was reminded of a biologist watch¬ 
ing a controlled experiment. 

“I am seldom mistaken in matters of that kind,” 
she said simply. 

The cage stopped. As they got out, Cole abruptly 
asked the question that had been uppermost in his 
mind all the time. “What about Reeves 

Dead, stabbed through the heart. He was 
breathing his last when we found him.” 

Cole nodded grimly. Miss Brown’s words had 
merely confirmed something of which he had been 
practically certain. They had gone through the hid¬ 
den door in the wall by this time and were now in 
the corridor. They passed several men who bowed 


COLE’S RUSE 


163 


respectfully to Miss Brown and cast hard glances 
at Cole. The woman opened a door, and they 
entered the large room with the filing cabinets and 
the glass globe, the room in which Cole had been 
the night before. 

At a desk, with iron-gray head bent over a stack 
of papers, sat Grover Carlin. The lawyer looked 
up as they entered, and a faint smile flitted across 
his rugged face and tempered the cold gleam in his 
eyes. “Glad to see you, Mr. Cole,” he said in 
measured tones. “I am also pleasantly surprised. 
Your abrupt departure, just after the murder last 
night, looked pretty bad.” 

“I was rather surprised that you didn’t try to 
stop me.” 

Carlin grinned apologetically. “No one thought 
of doing so until it was too late. Everybody, in¬ 
cluding myself, were stricken senseless by the mur¬ 
der. We couldn’t realize that such a thing had 
happened right here in our midst. It seemed un¬ 
believable. All we could think was that you 
were-” 

“In cahoots with the murderer,” suggested Cole 
when the lawyer paused. “Well, I admit it looked 
strange. That murder was about as nervy a piece 
of rascality as I ever heard of. The fellow came 
here determined to carry out his purpose or die 
in the attempt. Doesn’t his reckless audacity and 
the ease with which he g’ot into your establishment 
suggest something to your mind, Mr. Carlin?” 

“Oh, yes a number of things. It suggests that 
he had powerful influences behind him. The mo¬ 
tive isn’t far to seek. The men responsible for 



164 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


the murder feared that Reeves might recover from 
the effects of the operation and divulge certain facts 
which would be to their detriment. They decided 
to prevent that by silencing him forever.” 

‘‘What else?” asked Cole, eying the lawyer 
steadily. 

Carlin gave him a quizzical glance. 

‘“How do you suppose the fellow got in?” Cole 
went on. “Where did he get the duplicate key 
to the elevator door? How did he get hold of the 
combination that controls the mechanism? Who 
told him how to get through the wall? How do 
you explain that, after entering, he walked straight 
to the room where Reeves was? As you probably 
remember, we heard the cry only a few moments 
after the green light had flashed, showing that the 
murderer knew his way thoroughly.” 

Carlin gazed at him hard and long. “Well?” 
he asked at length. 

“Perhaps you still suspect me?” asked Cole lightly. 

“No.” The word came a little uncertainly. “I 
never really suspected you. I only had certain 
doubts about you, doubts which were natural under 
the circumstances. Your return here this afternoon 
speaks volumes. You would scarcely have come 
back if you had been playing us false. I feel I 
owe you an apology.” 

“It's accepted,” said Cole with a laugh. “But 
apologies aren’t going to remedy matters. Mr. 
Carlin, there’s a traitor among you.” 

Miss Brown, seated near by, caught her breath. 
The lawyer thrust his head forward a little. “Im¬ 
possible,” he said. “There was a traitor among 


COLE’S RUSE 


1^5 

us, as I explained to you, but we got rid of him. 
For all I know he may be dead by this time. I 
am ready to swear to the reliability of every man on 
our staff.” 

Cole seemed inclined to argue the point, but he 
desisted. His eyes twinkled a little, and he looked 
as though he were content to let developments prove 
the truth of what he had said. 

“There is one thing you haven’t explained, Mr. 
Cole,” said Miss Brown. “I am curious to know 
how you got into the elevator a little while ago. 
Where did you get the key?” 

“Oh, the key,” said Cole lightly. “Why, I 
found it in the murderer’s pocket.” 

Carlin and Miss Brown looked at him in speech¬ 
less astonishment. 

“I seem to be telling things backward,” Cole 
went on. “After I left here early this morning 
I gave the fellow a chase and caught him. He’s 
a hunchbacked, dried-up wisp of a man, and as 
evil looking a specimen of humanity as I ever saw.” 

Carlin blinked his eyes bewilderedly and looked 
at Cole, as if he had just discovered some new 
quality in him. 

“And you—you caught him?” asked Miss Brown. 
“Where—how ?” 

Cole explained, but only very briefly. There was 
a gleam of sly humor in his eye. Toward the 
end of his recital he did a strange thing. He 
finished it off with an embellishing touch that was 
not in strict accordance with the truth. 

“The best part of it all,” he said in casual tones, 
“is that I have the fellow’s confession in black 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


166 

and white. Like most of his kind he showed 
the yellow streak when he saw the game was up. 
Just how complete the confession is I can't say, 
but it contains several interesting facts.” 

'‘Where is it?” said Carlin excitedly. "Have 
you got it with you?” He half rose from his chair, 
then sat down again. 

"No; it isn’t wise to carry such things on one's 
person. No telling when you’re going to get 
knocked down and have your pockets picked. The 
confession is in a safe place. In due time I shall 
show it to you.” 

Carlin seemed inclined to ask questions, but 
Cole's face showed plainly that he had said all that 
he intended to say for the present. The lawyer 
got up, walked around the desk and gave the other's 
shoulder a vigorous slap. "You belong here with 
us,” he declared with blunt emphasis. "You’re 
just the man for the job. I was sure of it be¬ 
fore; now I’m doubly certain. You've proven your 
fitness in forty different ways. Will you accept?” 

Cole s eyes gleamed wistfully. His smile showed 
that the proposition appealed to him. "You aren’t 
offering me the position just because I wormed a 
confession out of the hunchback?” he asked guard¬ 
edly. 

"By no means. We were ready to offer you 
the place a week ago, while you were sniffing 
around the edges of what you called the Carmody 
case. We need you, Cole. Think it over carefully. 
Consider the opportunities.” 

I have considered them. I am strongly tempted 
t° accept, especially since I am out of a job.” 


COLE’S RUSE 


167 


Cole gave a whimsical little laugh. “I forgot to 
tell you that Englebreth gave me my walking papers 
this morning. Do you care to take on a man who 
was fired by his last employer?” 

“You just bet we do!” Carlin extended his hand, 
and Cole gripped it vigorously. “This evening your 
appointment will be confirmed by the full board, 
and afterward we’ll introduce you to the members 
of the staff. There’s one matter that’s got to be 
settled immediately though. You’ve got a ticklish 
problem to solve right at the start, Cole. Some¬ 
thing must be done about the body of Reeves.” 

Cole had already thought of that. He realized 
what a delicate position The Unknown Seven were 
in. The murder could not be reported to the po¬ 
lice without jeopardizing the secrecy that, to a great 
extent, had been responsible for the organization’s 
success. Neither would it be easy to turn the body 
over to the proper authorities without imperiling the 
society’s seclusion. It was a knotty problem, and 
Cole considered it from all angles, while Carlin and 
Miss Brown showed him over the premises. 

Cole’s eyes grew wider and wider as he was 
conducted from room to room. On one side of 
the hall were the offices with their steel filing cases, 
huge nickel-plated safes, desks, typewriters, and even 
a rogues’ gallery, which Cole inspected with avid 
interest. One room was devoted to finger prints 
and the Bertillon system of identification. Ad¬ 
joining it was a laboratory in which, as Carlin ex¬ 
plained, the latest scientific discoveries were adapted 
to the requirements of the detective profession. 

They crossed the hall, and it seemed to Cole that 


i68 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


he was entering a different world. This part of the 
establishment was given over to clubrooms, but 
they were more magnificent than any Cole had ever 
seen. There was a well-appointed gymnasium; a 
swimming pool in which clear water gleamed in¬ 
vitingly in a huge tank of marble; a library con¬ 
taining all the latest fiction and belles-lettres; a 
dining room, an art gallery, a pool and billiard par¬ 
lor, and various cozy little nooks for the members. 

“You see, Mr. Cole, we believe in combining 
pleasure and comfort with work/’ explained Carlin, 
when the tour of inspection was finished and they 
were back in the office from which they had started. 
“By the way, dinner will be served at six-thirty. 
You must stay and dine with us.” 

Cole agreed after a moment's hesitation. His 
glance fell on the telephone at Carlin's desk, and 
suddenly he seemed to remember something. 

“Perhaps you would like to use the telephone,” 
the lawyer suggested. “The switchboard is in an 
office on the tenth floor, and all incoming and 
outgoing calls are relayed through it. No chance 
of a call being traced, you see.” 

Cole picked up the telephone and gave the op¬ 
erator the number of his landlady. Carlin and Miss 
Brown started to withdraw, but Cole assured them 
there was nothing personal about the call and 
asked them to stay. 

“That you, Mrs. Armstrong?” he asked when 
he had got his connection. “Mr. Cole speaking. I 
may not be home till late this evening, and I won¬ 
der if you'd mind running up and giving Toots 
her milk. Yes, Toots—T-o-o-t-s. The cat, yojj 


COLE’S RUSE 


169, 


know. Very good of you. Will you do it right 
away, Mrs. Armstrong? I’ll hold the wire till you 
come back. Toots wasn’t looking well this morn¬ 
ing. Acted as if she had a headache or something. 
I’m anxious to know how she is.” 

With the receiver at his ear, Cole waited. Carlin 
stroked his chin reflectively. From time to time 
he gazed in an odd way at the man who was to 
direct the activities of The Unknown Seven, and 
whose sole concern just now appeared to be an 
ailing cat. Miss Brown was amused and took no 
pains to conceal it. 

Cole was kept waiting a long time. At last he 
pricked up his ears in a startled way, as if some 
surprising news was being told him. He uttered 
a few short exclamations, then hung up the receiver 
and glanced at his watch. 

“Mr. Carlin,” he said gravely, in a tone so low 
that the other two could scarcely hear, “two hours 
ago I sat in this chair and told you a lie.” He 
made a silencing signal with his hand as Miss 
Brown and Carlin started to interrupt. “Yes, a 
lie. What I said about having wrung a confes¬ 
sion from the hunchback wasn’t true, though all 
the rest was in strict accordance with the facts. 
As you may remember, I mentioned having put 
the confession in a safe place. From that you 
might have inferred that I had hidden it at my 
home, or placed it in a safe-deposit box.” 

He was speaking in whispers, as if afraid that 
an eavesdropper might be lurking somewhere in 
the room. The faces of his two listeners showed 
stark bewilderment. 


17 ° THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

That was two hours ago,” he went on, “and 
just now my landlady told me that when she went 
up to my rooms to feed the cat she found every¬ 
thing thrown topsy-turvy. The place looked as if 
a cyclone had struck it.” 

Miss Brown gave a little gasp. Carlin's pupils 
contracted in astonishment. He stared hard at 
Cole, while a cloud overspread his face. One 
arm was stretched out on the desk, and his fingers 
clenched and unclenched spamtodically. 

“They didn’t lose any time,” he muttered. “I 
don’t understand, but you were right, Cole. There’s 
a traitor among us.” 


CHAPTER XV 

THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 

T^TITH his fingers across his lips, Cole enjoined 
silence. His glance darted quickly over the 
floor, the ceiling and the walls. He moved hither 
and thither, looking behind desks and filing cases. 
Finally he stepped behind Carlin’s desk and gazed 
speculatively at a panel of grille work in the wall. 
He held his hand before it and felt a strong draft 
of fresh air. It was obviously a ventilating shaft, 
and the force of the current suggested that air was 
driven into it by fans. 

He whirled round and whispered to Carlin and 
the girl. ‘Talk,” he said, “talk on any subject but 
the one you’re thinking on. Be as natural as you 
can.” 

Carlin showed plainly that he did not under¬ 
stand, but he nodded obediently. Cole tiptoed to a 
typewriter desk in the rear, and in one of the 
drawers he found a box containing a number of 
small tools. Selecting a screw driver, he went 
back to the air shaft and loosened several of the 
screws that held the grilled panel. In a few mo¬ 
ments he could bend it outward, and now he in¬ 
serted his hand and ran it up and down the sides 
of the shaft. 

“Any more of that sauterne left?” he heard Car¬ 
lin ask the girl. 

“About a dozen bottles, I think.” 


1J2 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“We’ll instruct the chef to have it served after 
the fish course. Just to celebrate the occasion, you 
know. Afterward-” 

The lawyer ran on with the dogged air of a 
soldier obeying orders that he doesn’t understand; 
but Cole heard no more. A sudden tensing of his 
body hinted that he had verified a suspicion. He 
had found a small metal disk attached to the 
opposite side of the air shaft, and to it was affixed 
a wire that extended upward. A serio-comic smile 
twisted his lips as he rejoined Carlin and Miss 
Brown. “Guess what I found,” he said in a whis¬ 
per. 

The other two stared. 

“An amplifying disk and a wire that seems to 
run out on the roof. A dictaphone in other words. 
There may be others scattered throughout the place. 
My little ruse has shown that these walls have ears.” 

The lawyer was too astounded for words. Miss 
Brown looked fixedly at Cole, her lips trembling a 
little at the corners. 

“Did I hear you say something about sauterne?” 
asked Cole in his usual speaking voice, at the same 
time motioning them to step farther away from the 
shaft in which the disk was hidden. “Favorite drink 
of mine, though I take only an occasional drop of 
such things.” Again he lowered his voice. “To¬ 
night I shall get out on the roof and see where 
the wire runs to. Carlin, this is additional proof 
that there is a renegade in our midst. The man 
who posted the hunchback on how to get in here 
probably installed the dictaphone. It isn’t safe for 
us to make a single move until we have singled 



THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 


173 


him out and rendered him harmless. We must at¬ 
tend to that even before we consider what is to be 
done with the body of Reeves/’ 

Carlin still seemed a trifle dazed. “You are 
right, of course,” he said. “We must get rid of 
the blackguard at once. It is startling to think 
that any one in our organization may be the traitor. 
How are we going to find him?” 

“Leave that to me.” Cole’s narrowing gaze 
slanted upward, as if his thoughts were on the 
track of an idea. “I have noticed that a man 
of that kind nearly always has a flaw in him of 
some sort. Generally that flaw is cowardice. That 
gives us an advantage over him, right at the start. 
We’ll play on his cowardice and make him betray 
himself.” 

The lawyer looked somewhat dubious. “How?” 
he asked. 

“I haven’t studied out the details yet,” said Cole, 
but the slow twinkle in his eye told that the idea 
was assuming shape. “You sowed the seed of a 
plan in my mind when you mentioned sauterne. 
But don’t expect anything spectacular. Sometimes 
simple measures work best. Can you arrange to 
have the whole organization here for dinner?” 

The lawyer fingered his chin in a bewildered way. 
“It could be managed. Most of them have planned 
to attend, anyway.” 

“Splendid! Now, Carlin, since I am to take 
charge of the work here, it would seem only fitting 
that everybody should drink my health in sauterne, 
wouldn’t it?” 

“Cer—certainly,” stammered Carlin. 


174 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“You could propose the toast yourself. I know 
you will do it charmingly. And I want you to 
see to it that everybody is invited to drink, including 
the waiters and the kitchen help. You could ex¬ 
plain that the toast is to be a sort of pledge of 
allegiance. ” 

The lawyer looked blinkingly at Cole, searching 
his face in vain for a sign that he was jesting. 

“I’m not sure there is enough sauterne to go 
around, observed Miss Brown, who evidently shared 
Carlin’s stupefaction. 

“Then use smaller glasses/’ suggested Cole. “Be¬ 
sides, in an emergency the wine can be thinned out 
I think you said there were a dozen bottles. That 
ought to be enough for one round. I can almost 
taste that sauterne already.” He smacked his 
lips as he consulted his watch. “Carlin, I wonder 
if you would mind telephoning my landlady, 
Gramercy 0099, to see if any messages have been 
received for me. The bright youngster who is 
watching Doctor Latham’s house may have been 
trying to reach me. In the meantime, Miss Brown, 
I am going to ask you to come with me to the 
dining room. I want to get a general idea of the 
seating arrangement.” 

With a long, wondering glance at Cole, the girl 
conducted him from the office, while Carlin cleared 
his husky throat in preparation for the task as¬ 
signed him. 

“You are a very deep person, Mr. Cole,” the 
girl observed, as she led him into the dining room, 
where tables were set in horseshoe formation. “I 


THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 


175 

have a suspicion that you are keeping a perfectly 
gorgeous scheme all to yourself.” 

Cole smiled thinly, while his glance roved over 
snow-white napery and brightly polished silver. At 
times Miss Brown had a naivete about her that he 
found rather alluring. 

111 take you into the secret in a few moments,” 
he promised. “One confidence deserves another, 
however. How much longer must I go on calling 
you Miss Brown?” 

“Don’t you like the name?” 

“I do not. I suspect you invented it on the 
spur of the moment the other night. It served well 
enough for a temporary acquaintanceship, but now 
its usefulness is past” 

‘True,” she admitted. “It w > an awkward alias, 
anyhow. How do you like Merle Brownell?” 

“Much better. One syllable more or less makes 
a lot of difference at times. I take it you are 
the high priestess of The Unknown Seven?” 

“Oh, no! I’m only an odd-job expert. My 
father, who died three years ago, was the founder 
of the organization. I have hung around, more or 
less, ever since. Most of the time I suspect I am 
in the way, but occasionally I manage to make 
myself useful.” 

Cole regarded her with a look that seemed to 
say, “You’ll pass.” 

“You promised to take me into your secret,” she 
reminded him. “Aren’t you afraid? How do you 
know that I’m not the traitor, or traitoress?” 

“I know,” said Cole firmly, “but don’t ask me 
how I know. By the way. Miss Brownell,” and 


176 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Cole lowered his voice several octaves, “I see the 
wineglasses haven’t been placed yet. Don’t you 
think you had better speak to the chef about the 
sauterne ?” 

She gave him a puzzled look, then a roguish 
smile illuminated her face. “I’m beginning to think 
the sauterne is the chief ingredient in that brilliant 
idea of yours,” she declared, as she left the room. 
A few moments later Cole followed, turning to¬ 
ward the laboratory which Carlin had so proudly 
shown him. At one wall were several shelves on 
which bottles were placed in long rows. After 
studying the labels, Cole selected one of the bottles 
and put it in his pocket. 

Miss Brownell was supervising the placing of the 
wineglasses when he returned to the dining room. 
He stood aside and watched silently until the task 
was finished and the waiter had left the room. Then 
he took the bottle from his pocket and stepped to 
the table. 

“Please guard the door,” he told Miss Brownell, 
speaking in very low tones. “If any one wants to 
enter, keep him out on any pretext you like.” 

She watched him in astonishment while he went 
to work. The bottle contained a colorless liquid, 
and with great care he poured a few drops into 
each wineglass. 

“Are you going to poison us?” she asked. There 
was a secretive air about Cole that seemed to 
prohibit talking aloud. 

“No, the stuff’s harmless. Nothing but spirits 
of hartshorn. It will mix with the wine, but only 
a person with a very sensitive tongue will notice 


THE TRAITOR UNMASKED i77 

the queer taste. Such a person, if there should be 
one among us this evening, will notice that the wine 
has an odd flavor, but that’s all. He won’t be able 
to identify the added ingredient. The quantity is 
too slight.” 

“That makes everything very clear of course,” 
remarked Miss Brownell. “About as clear as mud.” 

Cole went calmly on with his work. “I suppose 
it has often occurred to you. Miss Brownell, that 
the imagination is a great aid to one’s senses. 
Tell a person there’s a fire in the next room, and 
he will instantly smell smoke, even though he may 
not have noticed it before.” 

“I don’t see what that has to do with what 
you are doing.” 

“A very great deal. When these glasses have 
been filled with wine, a person, taking a casual 
sip of the concoction, will not notice the queer 
taste. If he is told, after the second or third 
sip, that he has drunk poisoned wine, the peculiar 
taste will become noticeable at once. Without stop¬ 
ping to try to identify the queer flavor, he will in¬ 
stantly become convinced that he has been poisoned, 
especially if the circumstances are such that he al¬ 
ready has reason to fear that some such thing is 
going to happen to him. That’s what imagination 
does to a person.” 

“Is this some kind of psychological experiment?” 

“In a way.” Cole had reached the last glass 
and was now putting the bottle in his pocket. “In¬ 
cidentally it is interesting to note that a person 
with an uneasy conscience always has a lively im¬ 
agination. Not only can he spot real dangers a 


178 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


mile off, but his guilty conscience is constantly sur¬ 
rounding him with imaginary ones. It's a lucky 
thing, too. If it wasn’t for such frailties in the 
human make-up, we detectives would lose our repu¬ 
tation for achieving brilliant deductions.” 

Miss Brownell smiled soberly as they walked out. 
“I think we are going to have a most interesting 
dinner,” she murmured. “I hope your psychologi¬ 
cal experiment will succeed, Mr. Cole. I must run 
off now and powder my nose.” 

Cole slipped back to the laboratory and replaced 
the bottle. A few moments later he met Carlin in 
the corridor. The lawyer told him that he had 
called up Cole’s landlady, but no messages had been 
received for him. 

“That means Doctor Latham has made no move 
yet, said Cole thoughtfully. “He plays a slow and 
sure hand.” 

The lawyer nodded. “Your landlady seemed 
quite distracted over the robbery,” he announced. 

“She isn’t the only one. I bet Toots is the most 
distracted female in the world, just now.” Cole 
gazed gloomily into space, and then a tall, broad- 
shouldered man approached with an easy swagger. 
Cole’s lips twisted into a reminiscent smile, as he 
recognized the surgeon. 

“Hello, Ballinger,” said the lawyer. “Shake 
hands with Kingdon Cole if you dare. I wouldn’t 
blame him if he were to shoot you on sight, but 
he has a forgiving disposition. Cole has just agreed 
to become one of us.” 

“Splendid!” ejaculated the doctor, and the 
two men shook hands. As their fingers touched. 


THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 


179 


.Cole experienced that indescribable something that 
comes from contact with a man of strong per¬ 
sonal magnetism. Ballinger’s grip could not have 
been called energetic, but it transmitted a subtle 
electric current. 

“You are tackling a man-size job,” remarked 
the doctor after Carlin had withdrawn. “You will 
have a chance to match your wits against the in¬ 
fernal cleverness of the astutest rogue in the coun¬ 
try. I suppose Carlin has explained the situation 
to you?” 

“He has only given me a few hints. There 
hasn’t been time for detailed explanations. All 
I know is that a colossal project of some sort is 
on foot, and that The Unknown Seven is trying 
to put a crimp in it.” 

Ballinger took his arm and led him to the smok¬ 
ing room. He extended his cigar case, and Cole 
noticed that his lingers were long, slim, and finely 
tapering, the fingers of one having a deft touch, a 
strong imagination, and a lively dramatic instinct. 
Again Cole saw that Ballinger’s resemblance to 
Doctor Latham was very slight, extending only to 
outward physique. It was the disguise, and the 
black beard in particular that had produced the 
likeness. 

“Too bad about poor Reeves,” murmured Bal¬ 
linger, as he held a lighted match in his cupped 
hands. “His life, however, would have been only 
a burden to himself and others, so in one sense it 
is just as well that he was shuffled off. For pro¬ 
fessional reasons I regret his death very keenly. 
I had hopes of being able to restore his brain to 


i8o 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


same degree of normal functioning. If I had suc¬ 
ceeded I think he would have told us a most in¬ 
teresting story, and that, of course, was just what 
the other side feared. However, his actions told 
us a great deal the other night.” 

“When he seemed to recognize Doctor Latham 
in you?” 

“Exactly. To that extent the experiment was a 
complete success. It was Carlin’s idea, and the 
credit belongs to him. I merely carried out his 
suggestions, and I didn’t particularly relish the 
task.” He chuckled apologetically. “Well, the mur¬ 
der of Reeves is additional proof of the fact that 
we are fighting a crowd of very ingenious and 
utterly conscienceless scoundrels. Evidently they are 
directed by a master mind, a genius of the kind 
we often read about, but seldom meet. You will 
admit there’s a great deal of fascination about a 
rascal of that type, Cole?” 

Cole did not answer, but he remembered the mag¬ 
netic tug he had felt in Doctor Latham’s presence. 

“I almost envy you the exciting times you will 
have tracking this master mind to his lair,” Bal¬ 
linger went on. “We know some of the smaller 
fry in the crowd, Professor Carmody, for instance, 
but our efforts won’t lead anywhere until we have 
found the directing genius. And when we have 
found him, Cole, we will be face to face with an 
interesting character. Brilliant, resourceful, un¬ 
scrupulous, and full of bewildering subtleties, the 
kind that kills without hesitation the moment his 
plans are interfered with. I dare say you have 
already suspected who he is?” 


THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 181 

Ballinger’s eyes shone with a fine glow of en¬ 
thusiasm, but it was the unimpassioned enthusiasm 
of a scientist who dissects and analyzes. 

“Perhaps,” said Cole guardedly. “Haven’t you?” 

Ballinger smiled queerly, but the opening of the 
door and the announcement that dinner was served 
forestalled a reply. In the corridor they were 
parted by a stream of people, and Cole found an 
opportunity to speak a few words in Carlin’s ear. 
The lawyer nodded bewilderedly, like one receiving 
instructions which he does not understand. He 
knew Cole had a plan of some sort, but he could 
not make even a guess as to what it was. 

There were some twenty-five or thirty at the 
table. Cole found himself seated between Miss 
Brownell and Carlin. Inwardly he felt a tingling 
sensation, as he contemplated the bombshell he was 
about to explode among the diners, but his face 
showed no sign of it. Now and then he stole a 
glance down the two wings of the table. He liked 
the faces of the men with whom he was to work. 
They were an alert, keen-eyed lot, the kind of men 
Cole himself would have selected. 

“You are a judge of faces,” whispered Miss 
Brownell, leaning slightly toward him. “Who is the 
traitor ?” 

Cole shook his head. That very question had 
already occurred to him. There was not one in 
the gathering who by his looks could be singled 
out as the traitor. 

“Whom would you pick?” he whispered back. 

Her glance ran quickly up and down the table. 
He could see that her woman’s intuition was at 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


182 

work. A queer gleam came into her eyes; her 
face hardened for a moment. He tried to trace 
her glance, but it was too late. 

“It wouldn’t be fair to tell, would it?” she said 
evasively. “I may be wrong, you know.” 

Cole only smiled. As nearly as he had been 
able to tell, her glance had rested for an instant 
somewhere near the center of the left wing of 
the table. He scanned the faces of the men seated 
there, but none of them impressed him unfavorably, 
and he wondered what Miss Brownell could have 
based her guess on. 

The dinner progressed by easy stages, and the 
scene which Cole had been rehearsing in his mind 
was drawing near. Carlin, seated at his right, 
looked nervous, and Miss Brownell’s usually viva¬ 
cious manner seemed somewhat dampened. Finally 
the sauterne was opened and the waiters filled the 
glasses. Carlin cleared his throat. 

Noisy applause greeted the lawyer’s announce¬ 
ment that Cole had accepted the management of 
The Unknown Seven’s activities. Then Carlin pro¬ 
posed a toast, and it was drunk standing. Cole 
watched the faces of the men as fhey quaffed their 
wine. In several of them he saw a vaguely won¬ 
dering look, telling him that their senses had regis¬ 
tered an impression so faint that as yet their minds 
had not grasped it. He sipped his own wine, and 
he wondered whether he would have been able to 
taste the foreign substance if he had not known 
it was there. 

When Carlin finished, Cole got to his feet 
amid renewed handclapping. Somewhat bluntly 


THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 183 

he thanked them for the ovation, and then he 
veered sharply to the subject uppermost in his mind. 

“I wonder/’ he said, “how many of you can look 
me straight in the eye and tell me that you are 
loyal to this organization.” 

A breathless hush followed. His very quiet tones 
had created a profound impression. In the next 
instant every pair of eyes in the room was leveled 
at him without wavering. 

“It seems to be unanimous,” he observed dryly. 
“One can lie, however, with his eyes as well as 
with his tongue, and I know that one among you 
is a liar.” 

Another period of silence followed, and then 
came a scraping of feet and exclamations of in¬ 
credulity. Cole held up a silencing hand. Elis 
eyes were everywhere, noting each shifting expres¬ 
sion in the startled faces before him. 

“One of you has proven false to the organiza¬ 
tion,” he declared in short-clipped accents. “I dis¬ 
covered it only a little while ago. I found positive 
proof, not only of the treachery, but of the traitor’s 
identity as well. He is at this table. He was one 
of those who only a few moments ago looked me 
straight in the eyes. What shall we do with him?” 

Once more came an electric hush. Cole had 
spoken quietly, but with an emphasis that carried 
conviction. He smiled faintly, as he met the 
startled glances of the diners. A slight trace of 
the foreign substance in the wine was still lingering 
on his tongue. 

“What shall we do with him?” he asked again. 

“There’s only one thing to do with a traitor,” 


184 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


muttered some one at the farther end of the table, 
and the suggestion was followed by a chorus of 
approval. 

"And that thing has already been done,” declared 
Cole with grim emphasis. “So that it may serve as 
a warning to others who may be tempted to betray 
us, the traitor will die right before our eyes. In¬ 
side one minute the poison that was put into his 
glass will begin to take effect.” 

Cole pretended to look at his watch, but his 
glance was gliding swiftly over the two long rows 
of faces. He had spoken rapidly, and yet with a 
quiet insistence, putting his astounding announce¬ 
ment into the fewest possible words. The effect 
he hoped to produce depended upon a quick assault 
on the guilty person’s mental faculties, shocking 
him off his balance before he had time to digest 
the statement. In the acute tension of the mo¬ 
ment, the vague impression that he had received 
while sipping his wine would suddenly crystallize, 
and then, with the fear of death upon him, he could 
not help betraying himself. 

At least such was the psychological effect Cole 
had intended, and he had been reasonably sure that 
the test would succeed. Moments passed while he 
stood, watch in hand, glancing out of the tail of 
an eye at the faces around the table. Sixty seconds 
passed, and a look of diffidence crossed his features. 
Here and there an impatient mutter was heard. 
Carlin was looking up at him with an expression 
of thinly veiled disappointment. At length Cole 
snapped the watch shut. He smiled rather sheep¬ 
ishly. 


THE TRAITOR UNMASKED 185 

“The trick didn’t work,” he said disgustedly. 
“Yes, I might as well admit it was only a trick. 
The traitor was too clever to betray himself.” With 
that he sat down, well aware that he had made 
an unfavorable impression. 

“It was too thin, Cole,” whispered Carlin in his 
ear. “Too bad you didn’t consult me beforehand.” 

Cole nodded dejectedly. Then he felt Miss 
Brownell’s gaze on his face. He turned and saw a 
knowing twinkle in her eyes. 

“It was very clever, Mr. Cole,” she whispered. 
But for all that her face indicated she might have 
given him only a consoling platitude. “You saw, 
of course?” 

“Yes, I saw enough.” The sheepish grin still 
lingered on Cole’s lips. “And you guessed right. 
The traitor is sitting near the center of the left 
wing of the table. Doctor Ballinger is a very 
astute rascal. It took him only a fraction of a 
second to see through my little bluff. He is smiling 
behind his palm this very moment. We’ll just 
let him keep on smiling for a while, eh, Miss 
Brownell ?” 


CHAPTER XVI 


GOLD 

A FTER dinner Cole looked the picture of a man 
** whose faith in himself has received a stagger¬ 
ing blow. He seemed to take the outcome of his 
ruse very much to heart. He moved gloomily 
among the members of the organization, getting 
personally acquainted with a number of the men 
on his staff, and all the while he appeared to be 
making valiant, but not very successful, efforts to 
shake off his depression. Carlin did his best to 
gloss over the apparent frustration of the scheme, 
but Cole proved a hard man to console. 

Doctor Ballinger approached him after he had 
retired into a corner, and gave him a vigorous slap 
on the shoulder. “Don’t take it so hard, old man,” 
he said cheerily. “Know just exactly how you feel. 
It s embarrassing to turn up a flivver right at the 
start, but don’t you mind. Better luck next time. 
Have a smoke.” 

Thanks, said Cole dejectedly, as he helped him¬ 
self to a cigar from the doctor’s case. “What hurts 
me most is that I know I was right. Nothing is so 
humiliating to a man as to be sure of his facts 
and not be able to prove them. I know positively 
that there’s a black sheep in this fold. If I had 
worked the scheme properly-” 

“Tut, tut!” interrupted Ballinger. “Your scheme 
was all right in principle. You were simply out 


GOLD 


187 


of luck, that’s all. The traitor, if you’re right in 
the assumption that there is such a creature among 
us, is probably a very slick customer. No doubt 
you had him scared stiff for a moment, but his 
emotional reaction didn’t last long enough for him 
to betray himself. He assumed that you were only 
bluffing. At any rate he saw that, having already 
drained his glass, nothing could be gained by making 
a show of himself. In other words his mind out¬ 
stripped his emotions, and that’s where your psy¬ 
chology fell down. No matter! You’ll get him 
next time.” 

Cole walked away, a faint twitching at the cor¬ 
ners of his lips. In the main Doctor Ballinger’s 
analysis had been correct. He had only forgotten 
to mention one little detail. Just as the traitor’s 
mind had outstripped his emotions, so had Cole’s 
alert glance outstripped both. For just an instant 
Ballinger had shown all the symptoms of acute 
terror. He had shaken them off with superb self- 
control, but not before Cole’s eye had registered 
his momentary confusion. 

The revelation that Ballinger was the traitor had 
given Cole a shock at first. The doctor was one 
of the last men in the organization whom he would 
have suspected of treachery. Having found him 
out, Cole saw no reason for apprising the doctor 
of the fact. He preferred to let Ballinger lull him¬ 
self into a false security until he should show his 
hand more plainly. Neither did it seem advisable 
to Cole to take the other members into his con¬ 
fidence in regard to his discovery. It would be hard 
to keep a secret among so many, and the more hot- 


188 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


headed ones among them would probably demand 
drastic action. 

As inconspicuously as he could, Cole left the 
others and withdrew to the room that had been 
pointed out to him as his private office. It was 
small and comfortable and devoid of the drabness 
that characterizes the workroom of the average ex¬ 
ecutive. There was a vase containing red roses 
on the desk, and he noticed that the pictures on the 
wall had been carefully chosen. He stretched him¬ 
self out in the swivel chair and rocked in an experi¬ 
mental way. His glance fell on three white but¬ 
tons affixed to the side of the desk. He pushed the 
one nearest him, just to see what would happen. 

The door opened, and in strode the biggest negro 
Cole has ever seen. 

“Who are you?” he inquired. 

“Sambo, sah.” 

“And what’s your job, Sambo?” 

“Just now mah bussiness is to answer dese heay 
bells, sah. Dat ain’t mah reg’lar job, though, but 
Rufus is done laid up in the hosspittle, and I’se 
takin’ his place.” 

“What happened to Rufus? Sick?” 

“Yas, sah. Mighty sick, sah.” Sambo grinned 
expansively. “You ought to know, boss, ’cause you 
made him sick yusself. Dat was an a’ful wallop 
you handed Rufus, sah.” 

Cole smiled reminiscently, as he recalled one 
of the numerous experiences that had enlivened his 
first visit to the establishment of The Unknown 
Seven. 

“Too bad about Rufus,” he remarked. “Now, 


GOLD 189 

Sambo, I want you to find Mr. McKendrick and 
ask him to come here at once.” 

“Yas, sah.” With a profound bow Sambo wad¬ 
dled out. 

McKendrick, one of the young operatives with 
whom Cole had chatted since the dinner, appeared 
after a brief wait. He had a clear eye, a Whimsical 
expression about the mouth that had appealed to 
Cole on first sight, and a firmly molded chin. 

“Go into the main office,” Cole directed. “You 
will find a dictaphone in the ventilator shaft. The 
wire apparently runs out on the roof. Trace it to 
the other end, then report to me.” 

“Very well, sir.” As McKendrick walked out, 
Cole noticed with approval the easy swing to his 
shoulders. Once more he touched the nearest but¬ 
ton, and Sambo appeared almost instantly. 

“Find Sloane and tell him I want him,” Cole 
directed. 

Sloane entered in a few moments. With his keen 
intellectual features and shell-rimmed spectacles he 
looked a good deal like a college professor. 

“Sloane,” began Cole, “I want you to go to the 
block in which Doctor Latham resides. Some¬ 
where in the neighborhood, in a basement entrance 
across the street, perhaps, you’ll find a young chap 
of dilapidated appearance who answers to the name 
of Tony Pinto. He’s been watching the doctor’s 
house for the past twenty-four hours and must be 
sadly in need of food and sleep. Tell him I have 
sent you to relieve him.” 

“I understand perfectly, sir.” 

Cole gave him a few more instructions, and then 


190 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Sloane withdrew. Again Cole pressed the button, 
this time to summon a man whom he instructed 
to make a thorough search all over the establish¬ 
ment for hidden disks and wires. When the man 
had gone, Cole leaned back in his chair and pon¬ 
dered. He had set the machinery in motion, but the 
hardest task he had reserved for himself. Some¬ 
thing had to be done very soon about the body 
of Reeves. What to do with it was a problem that 
would demand all his resourcefulness. Too, a 
watch must be kept over Doctor Ballinger, and 
Cole did not like to delegate that business to any 
one else. He expected to learn a great deal from 
the unsuspecting doctor’s movements during the next 
twenty-four hours. 

He was deep in thought when a knock sounded 
on the door. In response to his rather brusque 
“Come in,” Miss Brownell entered. 

“I’ve been thinking,” she announced. 

“So I see,” said Cole, placing a chair for her. 
Miss Brownell, he observed, was one of the few 
women whom he had met who could wear a 
thoughtful frown becomingly. Where another 
woman’s forehead would have wrinkled, hers merely 
rippled. 

“You have been doing a lot of thinking your¬ 
self,” she remarked, regarding him with that curi¬ 
ous impersonal glance of hers. 

“Yes, but mostly in the dark,” Cole admitted. 
“I’m pretty much in the same fix as the man who 
walks into a theater in the middle of the second 
act. The only thing that’s clear so far is that the 
principal actors in this drama seem to be doctors.” 


GOLD 


191 

“You refer to Latham and Ballinger, of course. 
There is still another doctor involved.” 

“Still another? Who is he?” 

“In a sense he is the real instigator of the plot, 
although he died one hundred and thirty-eight years 
ago.” 

Cole blinked bewilderedly. “Sounds rather 
ghostly.” 

“His name was James Price, an English physi¬ 
cian of high repute, who discovered a method of 
transforming baser metals into gold. You can 
read up on him in history or the biographical en¬ 
cyclopedias, if you like. He wrote a book entitled 
‘An Account of Some Experiments/ but it has been 
out of print a long time and copies are hard to 
obtain. Professor Carmody owns one of the few 
still in existence.” 

“Oh!” said Cole, elevating his brows. “So that’s 
what the mystery is about? But you don’t mean 
to tell me that sane men like Latham and Ballinger 
are dabbling in the exploded myth of alchemy?” 

“I do. And that myth, by the way, seems to 
die very hard, Mr. Cole. Its been exploded and 
reexploded since the dawn of history, and yet it 
keeps bobbing up every now and then.” 

Cole gave a little impatient shrug. “It’s rub¬ 
bish,” he declared. “I have managed to forget 
most of the things I learned at school, but I seem 
to recall that modern science has absolutely estab¬ 
lished the fact that one element cannot be trans¬ 
formed into another.” 

She looked at him amusedly. “We women always 
smile when you men speak of absolute facts. The 


192 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


phrase is so delightfully characteristic of the sterner 
sex. And the world has moved since you went to 
school, Mr. Cole. Science has hedged and quibbled 
and reversed itself a good many times on the sub¬ 
ject of the transformation of metals. It wasn’t 
so very long ago that some one discovered that 
radium can be produced from helium, or was it the 
other way round? Anyway, right there is an in¬ 
stance of the transformation of one element into 
another.” 

Cole opened his lips to speak, but seemed unable 
to find the right words. 

“I was telling you about James Price,” Miss 
Brownell went on. “He claimed to have discovered 
a method whereby he could transform sixty parts 
of mercury into one part of gold. He was rather 
secretive about his discovery and hedged it about 
with a lot of mystic hocus-pocus. About all that is 
definitely known is that a mysterious red powder 
figured prominently in the process. The red powder 
was mixed with mercury and fluid borax, and the 
concoction was then put in a crucible and stirred 
with an iron rod. The result was gold.” 

“The iron rod must have been a magic scepter,” 
suggested Cole dryly. 

“Perhaps; anyway the Royal Society of England 
got interested in Price’s experiments and made an 
investigation. A committee of England’s foremost 
scientists went to his laboratory, firmly expecting 
to expose Price as a faker or lunatic. I can imagine 
the long, bewhiskered faces of those learned old 
fogies when they put the gold through an assaying 


GOLD 


*93 


process and found that it proved genuine in every 
respect/’ 

Cole’s pupils dilated a trifle, but he looked still 
dubious. 

“What I have told you is a matter of history, 
amply documented and supported by incontrovertible 
evidence,” declared Miss Brownell. ‘There can be 
no doubt but that Price produced a form of gold 
that proved genuine on assay. I am now coming to 
the strangest part of the story. Having solved 
this problem, that has tantalized scientific minds 
since the beginning of history, Price turned a sort 
of mental somersault. Just what happened to him 
has never become definitely known. Some still in¬ 
sist that he was a faker, despite the tests that were 
made. Others believe that his mind collapsed under 
the strain, and that he went insane. That seems 
to be nature’s way of punishing those who peep 
behind the curtain of the unknown, and Price was 
neither the first nor the last to go mad on the 
subject of gold. Still others think that gold be¬ 
came an obsession with him, a sort of monomania, 
and that he could not endure the thought of sharing 
his discovery with others. Then there are those 
who cling to the theory that his production of gold 
was nothing but an accident.” 

“What happened?” asked Cole. 

“The committee of scientists wanted to learn 
Price’s formula and asked him to repeat the ex¬ 
periment in their presence. Price refused on the 
pretext that his supply of red powders was ex¬ 
hausted. Shortly afterward he committed suicide 
by drinking laurel water. It has been generally 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN, 


194 

supposed that his secret died with him. His book 
is somewhat vague in regard to the composition 
of the red powders. Repeated attempts have been 
made to learn exactly what they consisted of, but 
without success. Last year, however, Professor 
Carmody returned from abroad after browsing in 
the libraries of the Old World for many months. 
He brought back with him a number of faded and 
forgotten manuscripts, said to be in Doctor Price’s 
handwriting. Where he found them, and how he 
got possession of them we don’t know, but we do 
know that they gave him a clew to the secret which 
Price guarded so jealously.” 

“How do you know?” demanded Cole. 

“Our organization has eyes and ears everywhere. 
However, it was mostly through accident that we 
learned what was on foot. I shan’t bore you with 
the details. Carmody saw a chance to become 
enormously rich by manufacturing gold on a large 
scale, using Doctor Price’s formula. But he needed 
money to swing the enterprise, and so he guardedly 
approached a number of wealthy men with a scheme 
for multiplying their fortunes many times. Be¬ 
sides he knew that he lacked the executive ability 
required to engineer a project of such magnitude. 
He talked to Malcolm Reeves so engagingly that 
Reeves w r as smitten with the gold fever and sup¬ 
plied a great portion of the cash that he needed. 
No doubt he enlisted the assistance of other rich 
men in a similar manner. The lure of gold is a 
terrible thing, Mr. Cole.” 

“A curse,” said Cole. “But what about Latham ?” 

“Latham is an extremely clever and very versatile 


GOLD 


195 


man. Though he practices medicine he has dabbled 
in various sciences. Perhaps Carmody needed his 
assistance in solving some of the problems that he 
encountered in working out Price’s formula. How¬ 
ever that may be, we know he has been very close 
to Professor Carmody for several weeks.” 

“Then you think Carmody is the moving spirit 
in the enterprise?” 

“No; Carmody merely supplied the formula and 
his scientific knowledge. He is a small man, physi¬ 
cally and mentally, with a sharp, but narrow, intel¬ 
lect, and he is deficient in the qualities required 
to direct an enterprise of this sort. Knowing his 
shortcomings, he was willing to put the management 
of the project into stronger hands than his own.” 

“Latham’s, for instance?” asked Cole. 

“Or Ballinger’s. Both are very shrewd and 
energetic men, though I hadn’t thought of Ballinger 
in that connection until to-night. It is your job 
to find the master mind that is directing the op¬ 
erations of this gold-mad crowd, Mr. Cole. We 
know that they are already producing gold, or a 
substitute for gold, on a very large scale.” 

“Where?” inquired Cole quickly. 

“That’s another thing for you to find out. In 
some secluded spot in New York City or its environs 
there is a large and fully equipped plant. From 
snatches of conversation which we have overheard 
we know that it exists, but we haven’t been able 
to locate it. We also know that the conspirators 
feel confident that their product will stand every 
test, that it resembles natural gold in every respect. 
In order to eliminate all risk, however, they have 


196 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


decided to hold the gold in storage until the desired 
quantity has been manufactured. You can imagine 
what will happen when a golden flood is suddenly 
released and poured out over the country.” 

‘A few men will become enormously rich over 
night, and the monetary system will be utterly dis¬ 
organized. I suppose the ultimate result will be the 
worst panic the world has ever seen.” 

“That’s exactly what Mr. Carlin and the others 
think, ’ declared Miss Brownell. 


They sat silent for a time, neither looking at 
the other. Their minds were stunned by the con¬ 
templation of the golden havoc which their im¬ 
agination pictured. Cole recalled the look of insane 
ecstasy which he had seen in Malcolm Reeves’ face. 
The words, Pretty yellow,” which the insane man 


mumbled, suddenly assumed a vivid significance. He 
shook himself a little. 

“I suppose Reeves had a falling out with the 
others,” he remarked. “That’s why they first de¬ 
stroyed his mind and afterward killed him.” 

“Presumably.” Her eyes looked a little dim, as 
if they had gazed too long upon a dazzling vision. 
“It was about Reeves I was thinking just before I 
walked in here and disturbed you. I was wonder¬ 
ing why Ballinger didn’t commit the murder. He 
had . free access to the place and nobody had any 
suspicions against him. Why was it necessary to 
have the hunchback sneak in here and do it?” 

“I think the answer to that question is fairly 
clear.” Cole’s smile seemed to say that women, even 
the . cleverest of them, were rather simple-minded 
at times. The job had to be done by an outsider 


GOLD 197 

in order to conceal the fact that the conspirators had 
an associate in your midst." 

“But they didn't conceal it. The ease with which 
the hunchback got in and out proved clearly that he 
was assisted by some one on the inside." 

“That’s so/’ admitted Cole, somewhat abashed. 
“Well, then it’s quite likely that Ballinger balked 
at the job. Murder is pretty nasty business. It is 
a coarser crime than depriving a man of his rea¬ 
son. Many criminals of the intellectual type shrink 
from it." 

“Maybe that was the way of it. There’s another 
thing that has been troubling me lately. Who do 
you think performed the operation on Reeves?" 

Cole stared at her for an instant. “It seems to be 
pretty well established that Doctor Latham was the 
man." 

“Yes, I know that’s what they all seem to think. 
Their reason is that Reeves seemed to recognize 
Ballinger when he was made up to resemble 
Latham." 

“It was more than recognition. The sight of 
Ballinger made up as Latham fairly terrified the 
poor man. I’ll never forget how he looked." 

“But isn’t that a flimsy reason for supposing that 
Latham performed the operation?" 

Cole leaned out of his chair and regarded her 
closely, as if wondering whether her intuition was 
once more at work. “Can you imagine any other 
explanation for the way Reeves acted that night?’* 

“Yes; can’t you?" 

Cole shook his head ponderously. 


198 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


"Just think about it,” she said, smiling faintly; 
then she rose and walked out of the room. 

For a long time Cole sat very still, with a 
thoughtful pucker across his forehead. Once, from 
force of habit, he reached for his pipe, frowning 
when he realized it wasn’t there. Now and then 
he bent a quizzical gaze on the chair which Miss 
Brownell had vacated. 

“What the deuce did she mean?” he mumbled. 
“What else is there to-” 

With a jerky motion he sat erect in his chair. 
He gave the desk in front of him a vigorous thump. 

“By Jove, she wins!” he declared. “There is 
another explanation. It’s beginning to look as 

though-” He checked himself, scowling. ‘‘But 

that only muddles the situation. What’s the good 
of an explanation that doesn’t explain. But I sup¬ 
pose a woman can’t see it that way. They’re all 
alike, from Toots down.” 

He shrugged as if to banish unprofitable specula¬ 
tions. He suddenly remembered that there had been 
weighty things on his mind when Miss Brownell 
interrupted his thoughts. He had given several 
orders to the men, and he had been studying what 
to do with the body of Reeves, and how he might 
make the most of his discovery that Doctor Bal¬ 
linger was the traitor. He jumped from the chair 
as the physician’s name ran through his mind. For 
half an hour or more he had given not a single 
thought to Ballinger. He hurried from the office 
and crossed the corridor, but a glance into the 
smoking room reassured him. Ballinger was 
sprawled out leisurely in an armchair, evidently in 


GOLD 


199 

the midst of an anecdote which he seemed to be 
relating with great gusto to his companion. 

Cole went farther down the corridor and rapped 
on the door to Miss Brownell’s private room. “Wish 
you would keep an eye on Ballinger for a while,” 
he whispered when she opened. She lifted her 
brows in a knowing way and nodded. In the main 
office he found Carlin bent over a stack of papers. 
The man seemed a veritable dynamo of energy. 

“I’ve been thinking about Reeves,” he said. 

Carlin looked up and took an obese cigar from 
his mouth. “What do you suggest?” 

“That we obey the spirit of the law and blink 
the letter. The ends of justice will be met if the 
murderer is convicted and punished. It won’t be 
necessary to drag all the embarrassing details into 
light.” 

“How can it be avoided?” 

“I have a plan, but, before I go any farther, I 
would like to see the body.” 

The lawyer got up. “I would have shown it to 
you when I took you over the place, but Miss 
Brownell was with us then, and you know how 
women are about such things.” 

He led the way from the room, and they went to 
the end of the corridor. There Carlin opened a 
door, and they stepped in. It was dark, and Cole 
could see nothing. He heard a slight scraping 
sound, as the lawyer ran his hand over the wall in 
search of a switch. Then a light flashed on. Car¬ 
lin raised an arm and pointed. 

“There,” he said a trifle thickly, indicating a 


200 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

shape spread out on a cot at the farther side of 
the room. 

Cole walked up to the cot and looked down at 
the dead man. He jerked back a little as his glance 
fell on the lifeless face. Then he bent over the 
body and gazed fixedly into the rigid features. 
Finally he stood up and turned to Carlin, who had 
remained behind. 

“When did you last see the body?” he inquired, 
and his voice sounded a trifle husky. 

“Why, I think it was this morning. Yes, that 
was it, about ten o’clock this morning. Why do 
you ask?” 

“Because- But see for yourself.” 

With a wondering glance at the detective, Car¬ 
lin crossed the floor. He looked down at the mo¬ 
tionless figure, and suddenly he shrank back a step. 
A husky exclamation sounded in his throat, then 
he slowly raised his eyes, and for a long moment the 
two men stared blankly at each other. 

^It—it isn’t Reeves!” stammered the lawyer. 

“No—it isn’t Reeves!” echoed Cole. 



CHAPTER XVII 


IN ROOM 2512 

/“^OLE had recognized the dead man at a glance. 

It was McKendrick, the young operative whom 
he had instructed to trace down the dictaphone wire. 
That had been only an hour ago/ and already death 
had blotted out the whimsical expression about the 
mouth that had attracted Cole to him from the first. 

“Shot through the head,” muttered Cole, noticing 
a crimson stain just above the left temple. “He 
hasn’t been dead more than fifteen or twenty min¬ 
utes.” 

He turned and looked out through the crack of 
the open door. A laugh sounded in the direction 
of the smoking room. Perhaps Doctor Ballinger 
had just told another funny story. Cole closed the 
door. 

“This shows there are no limits to the rascality 
of those blackguards,” said the lawyer. “But I 
don’t see why they should kill McKendrick.” 

Cole explained the errand on which he had dis¬ 
patched the young detective. “No doubt McKen¬ 
drick made an important discovery of some kind,” 
he added. “That’s probably why he was killed. 
He must have been overpowered, either while get¬ 
ting his facts or on his way back here to report. 
Probably the latter; that would explain why the 
body was taken here. The murderer wanted to 
conceal his crime as long as possible, and for a 


202 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


temporary hiding place this room served as well as 
any other. We must find out whether Ballinger has 
been absent from the smoking room during the last 
hour or so. ,, 

The lawyer seemed dazed. ‘‘But the other body? 
What happened to it?” 

“You are sure it was here this morning?” 

“Positive.” 

Could any one have taken it down the private 
elevator without being seen?” 

“Impossible. Even if such a thing could be done, 
which is unthinkable, it is a ticklish job to trans¬ 
port a body through the streets. It is not yet mid¬ 
night.” 

“Is there any other exit?” 

“Only the stairs leading to the roof.” 

Then it is a safe bet that the body of Reeves 
was taken out that way. From the roof it could 
have been slipped down a fire escape in the rear, 
and from there—Heaven only knows!” 

“But why should such a thing be done? What 
object could any one have in doing it?” 

“I don’t know, Carlin. I can only make a hazy 
guess. Being a lawyer you know better than I do 
that, with the body missing, it will be hard to 
prove the murder of Reeves. I believe the law 
covering murder cases provides that, when the cor¬ 
pus delicti cannot be proven, the commission of the 
crime must be established by direct, not circum¬ 
stantial, evidence. Isn’t that correct ?” 

“Substantially, yes.” 

“And, as I understand it, nobody saw the crime 
committed. Consequently there can be no direct 


IN ROOM 2512 


20^ 

testimony in regard to the murder. It appears that 
the men we are fighting are playing a very shrewd 
game.” 

The lawyer tried to pull himself together. “But 
isn’t it your idea that the men who instigated the 
murder of Reeves are also responsible for McKen- 
drick’s death?” 

“Presumably ?” 

“Then why, after going to all that trouble to 
cover up the first crime, did they leave the evi¬ 
dence of the second murder in plain sight?” 

“Looks a bit contradictory, doesn’t it?” Cole 
squinted abstractedly at the form on the cot. It 
seemed as though the murderers of McKendrick, 
in placing the body in the identical spot where that 
of Reeves had lain, had gone out of their way to 
add a spectacular touch to their crime. “But you 
may be sure of one thing,” he added. “They had 
good -reasons for doing what they did. There isn’t 
any doubt-” . 

He stopped short, and Carlin gave him a puzzled 
look. 

“Yes, that must be it,” Cole went on in an under¬ 
tone. “The reason for what they did is to be found 
in the one thing that differentiates the murder of 
Reeves from that of McKendrick.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Reeves was operated upon before he was mur¬ 
dered; McKendrick was not.” 

Carlin seemed unable to follow this line of rea¬ 
soning. 

“If there should be an autopsy,” Cole explained, 
“it might be discovered that an atrocious operation 



204 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


had been performed on Reeves before his death. 
Such an operation could have been performed only 
by a skilled surgeon. It would be deducted that 
the operation and the murder were perpetrated by 
the same parties. That would reduce the range of 
suspicion down to one class of individuals, surgeons. 
So, you see, the body of Reeves constituted a clew 
to the identity of his murderers.” 

Carlin gave him an admiring glance. “First 
rate!” he applauded. “I’m glad you are doing the 
heavy thinking for us.” 

“You would have seen it yourself if you hadn’t 
been upset to-night,” said Cole modestly. “By the 
way, it’s just as well not to let the news of this 
fresh outrage get out among the men at present. 
Wish you would show me the stairs to the roof.” 

They left the room, and the lawyer locked the 
door. A short distance down the corridor they 
met Miss Brownell, and Cole recalled that he had 
asked her to keep an eye on the physician. Her 
lips tightened as he briefly whispered what had hap¬ 
pened. 

“Do you know whether Ballinger was absent from 
the smoking room for any length of time during 
the last hour and a half?” he added. 

“He went out for cigars,” said Miss Brownell, 
“He explained that his case was empty, and he 
smokes only his special brand. When he returned 
he accounted for his long absence by saying that 
most of the cigar stores in the neighborhood were 
closed.” 

“That explanation is worthy of the doctor,” said 
Cole. It’s plausible and yet simple. A more in- 


205 


IN ROOM 2512 

volved one might have got him into difficulties, if 
he should have been checked up on it afterward. 
Please watch him, Miss Brownell. If by any chance 
he should leave, have one of the men follow him. 
Now, Carlin.” 

The lawyer and Cole stepped into the main office. 
Suddenly Cole seemed to recall something. He 
went to the ventilator shaft which contained the 
dictaphone that had cost McKendrick his life. He 
touched the disk, and a low mutter escaped him as 
he found that the wire had been cut. About a foot 
and a half of it was dangling from the disk. He 
turned and told Carlin what he had discovered. 

“Something made them suspicious,” he added. 
“They cut the wire so we wouldn’t be able to 
trace it.” 

“They did that after murdering McKendrick,” 
suggested the lawyer. 

“Without a doubt. McKendrick, if he were 
alive, could probably tell us where the wire termi¬ 
nated. Now we will have a look at the roof.” 

But the door opened just then, and the man who 
entered was the operative whom Cole had instructed 
to search the establishment for hidden dictaphones. 
He reported that he had found four in as many 
different rooms, but in each instance the wires had 
been cut. Cole thanked him and dismissed him. 

“IBs a safe bet that all those wires were cut 
within the last hour or so,” he told the lawyer. 

Carlin led him to the farther end of the office. 
There he opened a door and indicated a steep flight 
of stairs. He was about to proceed up the stairs, 
but Cole held him back. 


206 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Wait, Carlin.” Cole took an electric flash light 
from his pocket and turned the gleam on the steps. 
They looked as if they had not been swept in a 
long while. He stooped low to examine a number 
of marks in the thick layer of dust. Drawing a 
magnifying lens from his pocket and slowly moving 
the electric torch up and down, he made a careful 
inspection of the lower steps. 

“Two sets of footprints,” he declared. “One set 
is fairly large and broad-toed, a number nine and 
a half shoe, I should say. The other is a size and 
a half smaller, also narrower. This tends to show 
that McKendrick was followed when he came down 
from the roof.” 

“Why do you suppose he was permitted to leave 
the roof?” inquired the lawyer. 

“Because the murderer couldn't aim in the dark. 
He wanted to make a sure job of it. Probably 
McKendrick didn't know he was followed down 
the stairs. Likely as not the shot wasn't fired until 
he got down to the main office. It’s even possible 
the murder wasn’t committed until he was out in 
the corridor. That would explain why the mur¬ 
derer chose the room at the end of the hall as a 
temporary hiding place for the body. If the shoot¬ 
ing took place in the corridor, he had to drag or 
carry it only a few steps.” 

Cole pocketed his flash and lens, and they started 
up the stairs. 

“But wouldn't the shot have been heard?” asked 
Carlin. 

“Not if the weapon was equipped with a silencer. 


207 


IN ROOM 2512 

The smell of the burned powder was probably 
sucked up very quickly by the automatic ventilators ” 

Carlin opened a trapdoor overhead, and they 
stepped out on the roof. Up there all was wind 
and gloom. Their footsteps creaked dismally against 
the gritty surface. All around them loomed the 
ghostly shapes of tall buildings. Masses of clouds 
hung scowling over their heads, and there was a 
suspicion of moisture in the air. 

Cole stepped to the fire escape in the rear, the 
lawyer following. They looked down over the 
parapet into a wide court flanked by murky walls. 
“Yes,” said Carlin, more to himself than to his 
companion, “the body of Reeves was probably car¬ 
ried down this fire escape. It could have been 
done.” 

Cole nodded. “I wonder,” he said abstractedly, 
“how far down it was carried?” 

“Have you any reason for supposing that it 
wasn’t carried clear down to the ground?” 

“No, only a hunch, and most hunches are ridicu¬ 
lous. They go contrary to facts and logic. But 
just now I am more interested in what happened 
to McKendrick. He must have discovered some¬ 
thing very important to warrant the scoundrels kill¬ 
ing him. I wonder what it could have been.” 

“The other end of the wire, of course.” 

“Something more than that, I think.” Cole gazed 
down the long stretch of flights and landings that 
composed the fire escape. “Criminals of that type 
never kill without good cause. Not because they 
shrink from murder on moral or humanitarian 
grounds, but because it is dangerous and inexpedi- 


208 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


ent. McKendrick must have discovered something 
that- By the way, Carlin, I suppose The Un¬ 

known Seven controls the renting of offices in this 
building? You told me once that it is property 
of the organization/’ 

“It is, but the members individually have noth¬ 
ing to do with the management of the building. 
That is handled through a separate corporation. 
Why do you ask?” 

“No particular reason. Those infernal hunches 
are bothering me more than usual to-night. Sup¬ 
pose you wait here while I investigate.” 

Before the lawyer could answer, Cole had flung 
himself over the parapet and was gliding down the 
fire escape with the agility of a chimpanzee. On 
the first landing he stopped and once more took out 
his electric flash and magnifying lens. Then he 
turned to the window and carefully examined the 
frame in the neighborhood of the fastenings. Tiny 
marks, that had a fresh appearance, told him they 
had been tampered with not so long ago. McKen¬ 
drick, following the winding course of the dicta¬ 
phone wire, had probably passed through this same 
window. 

In a few moments Cole was inside. Before him 
stretched a long hall with doors on either side; but 
the one to his left was the only one that interested 
him. He looked for a moment at the numerals 
2512 and the lettering on the frosted pane. Once 
before in the past twelve hours the same sign had 
confronted him. While tracing Englebreth’s move¬ 
ments in the early afternoon Cole had come to this 



IN ROOM 2512 


209 


same door, and then he had turned back in the 
belief that nothing could be gained by going farther. 

“Bureau of Civic Research,” he read, wondering 
whether McKendrick had followed the course of 
the wire through this same door. Cole had no par¬ 
ticular reason for thinking so, for at least twenty 
other doors opened into the same hall. Yet, in 
view of Englebreth’s apparent familiarity 'with 
Cole’s movements during the past few days, he 
could not help wondering. If the dictaphone wire 
had extended into suite 2512, then the source of 
Englebreth’s information was clear. 

But the theory explained nothing else, and Cole 
had no proof that the wire had entered the office 
of the Bureau of Civic Research. His only clew 
was the scratches on the window frame, and they 
merely indicated that McKendrick had been on this 
floor. For all Cole knew, the young operative might 
have continued his search farther down. 

Yet the door continued to tantalize him. With a. 
glance over his shoulder to see if perchance a watch¬ 
man was near, he tried the knob. As he had ex¬ 
pected, the door was locked, but he stooped and 
looked closely at the little circle of brass that formed 
the outer portion of the spring lock. The hall light 
was dim, so he once more took out his electric 
flash. Close to the center of the circle, just beside 
the keyhole, he saw a slight scratch. It was almost 
certain now that McKendrick had picked the lock 
and passed through the door. 

From his pocket Cole drew a bunch of carefully 
selected keys. Soon the door was open, and he 
walked in and quickly closed it behind him. Then 


210 


lThe unknown seven; 


he took out his flash, not thinking it safe to turn 
on the light, and made a swift inspection of the 
premises. 

There were two rooms, a larger and a smaller 
one. After a glance over the floor and walls, Cole’s 
face fell. The thing which he had vaguely and 
without much reason expected to find was not there. 
It was just an ordinary suite of offices, containing 
the ordinary set of office furniture. A glance into 
the filing cabinets left him in no doubt as to the 
bona-fide character of the Bureau of Civic Research. 

On one of the desks in the inner office were sev¬ 
eral typewritten letters. At the top of each sheet 
were printed the name of the concern and a list of 
its officers, and he noticed that Englebreth was men¬ 
tioned as one of the honorary vice presidents. The 
letters had, in fact, been dictated by Englebreth, for 
in the lower left-hand corner of each one were the 
initials HE-MS. No doubt he had dictated them 
that afternoon and expected to sign them later. A 
glance told Cole that they pertained to political 
matters and dealt in detail with the availability of 
a certain candidate for alderman. 

He put the letters down. They confirmed a the¬ 
ory that he had formed that afternoon that the 
Bureau of Civic Research was a hobby of Engle- 
breth’s. Like many another rich man, his former 
client presumably felt the need of justifying his 
existence in some way. Cole felt satisfied on that 
point, but there were other doubts in his mind. It 
was just possible that the rooms of the bureau were 
being used clandestinely by persons who were in the 
habit of sneaking in there at night. Being close 


IN ROOM 2512 


211 


to the fire escape they were within easy reach of 
the headquarters of The Unknown Seven. The 
guess was rather far-fetched, but it seemed to ex¬ 
plain several things. 

Knowing that Carlin was waiting for him on the 
roof, and seeing that his quest was unavailing, Cole 
put out his flash and moved toward the door. He 
had advanced only a few steps when something 
prompted him to halt. A vague impression that 
some one had stopped outside the door came to 
him. He tiptoed to a corner of the room and 
waited. Presently he heard a key grate in the lock, 
and then the door came open. It was beginning to 
look as though his suspicions had been correct, that 
persons other than the regular tenants were visit¬ 
ing the offices at night. 

A light appeared in the outer room. Next he 
heard some one move across the floor. From his 
position, in the corner of the inner office, Cole 
could not see who the newcomer was, and he did 
not care to make his own presence known just yet. 

The footsteps were coming toward him, and Cole 
pressed close to the corner, as a figure appeared in 
the doorway. The footfalls gave him a queer sen¬ 
sation. He thought he recognized the plopping lit¬ 
tle sounds, suggestive of a walker who, instead of 
putting most of his weight on his heels, places hi 9 
entire foot on the ground at once. 

While still within the doorway the newcomer 
reached out a hand and touched a switch on the 
inner wall. In the light that suddenly appeared. 
Cole saw that he had identified the footfalls accu¬ 
rately. The man was Professor Carmody, and 


212 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Cole’s eyes narrowed as he recognized him. The 
scientist wore a faded silk hat and a long overcoat, 
j ust as Cole had seen him when he walked into 
Doctor Latham’s house the day before, and under 
his arm he carried a large umbrella. He walked 
straight to the middle of the office before he saw 
Cole, and then he stopped so abruptly that it seemed 
as if his gaunt form would topple over. 

“Hello,” he said, staring out of his small, mouse- 
colored eyes. His long nose, much too large for 
symmetry, was turned up, and his parted lips 
showed two rows of yellow teeth. He was plainly 
embarrassed, and to conceal the fact he grinned 
ostentatiously. 

“Good evening, professor,” said Cole, stepping 
forward. Though this was their first meeting at 
close quarters, he had reason to believe that Car- 
mody knew who he was. Miss Brownell, he re¬ 
called, had told him that the professor was well 
aware that Cole had been watching him from a 
distance for some time. 

“Are you connected with the Bureau of Civic 
Research, professor?” Cole went on. 

“In a way, yes,” said Carmody. He had a very 
thin voice that had a habit of rising to a shrill 
pitch, or falling to a faint murmur, without regard 
to what he was saying. He peered at Cole in an 
apologetic way. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleas¬ 
ure of meeting you before.” 

“Don’t you know who I am?” 

Carmody wagged his head. “I can’t say that I 
do.” 

“Too bad, professor. I was in hopes that you 


IN ROOM 2512 213 

would remember me. One doesn’t like to ask favors 
of strangers.” 

“Favors?” Carmody’s face took on a forbid¬ 
ding frown. “You wish to ask a favor of me?” 

“Just a slight one. There is a book in your 
library that is very hard to obtain, and I am very 
anxious to read it. The author is one James 
Price.” 

The professor looked at him hard and long. 
“You are mistaken,” he said finally in a very low 
tone. “The author whom you mention is not in 
my collection. May I ask what led you to think 
that I own the book in question?” 

“A little bird told me.” 

“You take your information from curious 

sources.” 

“One has to, sometimes. By the way, professor, 
aren’t you keeping rather queer office hours? It is, 
let me see, a quarter past one.” 

“I might ask the same question of yourself.” 

“That’s so; you might.” 

“I might also ask what you are doing here. It 
is my impression that you do not belong on the 
premises.” 

“Hope I am not in the way. Please go ahead 
and attend to whatever business brought you here.” 

But Carmody seemed in no hurry. Cole could 
not know whether it was because he had abundant 
leisure on his hands, or because he did not care 
to attend to his business in another man’s presence, 
but it was evident that the professor was not dis¬ 
posed to gratify his curiosity. Now and then his 
mousey little eyes moved furtively about the room. 


214 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

and once they rested in a designing way on one 
of the flat-top desks. Cole, following his glance, 
was vaguely puzzled. 

“Pardon me, but aren’t you trespassing?” inquired 
Carmody after a pause. 

Cole folded his arms and smiled genially. “You 
are not going to order me out, I hope?” 

“Suppose I should do that?” 

“I would overlook your rudeness and refuse to 
take the hint. If you insisted, I might invite you 
to try to put me out. If you should make such 
an attempt and fail at it, I would suggest calling 
the police to your assistance. But I don’t think you 
will go that far, professor. You might be called 
upon to explain your own presence here, and that 
would prove embarrassing.” 

There was a calculating gleam in Carmody’s eyes. 
Cole, with a picture in his mind of Carlin waiting 
for him impatiently on the roof, was anxious to 
bring the interview to a climax. He had no inten¬ 
tion of leaving until he had learned the object of 
the professor’s visit. 

Once more Carmody looked stealthily about the 
room, and again his glance rested on the desk. 
Cole’s lids narrowed, as he perceived that the desk, 
which seemed to be the object of the professor’s 
interest, was the one on which lay Englebreth’s 
unfinished letters. There were three other desks 
in the room, so it seemed odd that Carmody should 
center his attention on this particular one. Cole 
had already discovered that the drawers were empty, 
and that the desk contained nothing except the 
papers lying on top. Strange though it seemed, it 


IN ROOM 2512 


215 


looked as though the scientist’s visit to the office at 
this late hour was in some way concerned with the 
letters Englebreth had dictated that afternoon. 

The theory seemed rather far-fetched, so Cole 
decided to test it. He moved leisurely about the 
room a few times, then stopped before the desk at 
which the professor’s sly glances had been directed. 
In a casual manner he picked up the letters, looked 
hastily at two or three, then folded them across 
the middle and stuck them into his pocket. 

He knew, even before the letters reached his 
pocket, that his suspicion had been well founded. 
Carmody had watched his every move with grow¬ 
ing excitement. His expression had changed from 
bewilderment to dismay, and finally his face took 
on a look of sullen determination. 

“What are you doing with those letters?” he 
demanded. 

“Taking them home,” said Cole easily, at the 
same time moving toward the door. 

“Wait!” said the professor sternly. 

Cole turned around and watched him with amuse¬ 
ment. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently. 
“What are these letters to you?” 

“You shall not leave this office with them. Give 
them to me at once.” 

He reached out a hand, and Cole saw that it 
trembled. Evidently he was desperately intent upon 
obtaining possession of the letters. Cole was at 
a loss to understand, for he knew that the epistles 
dealt with political affairs that could be of no vital 
concern to a man like the professor. 

“Don’t excite yourself,” he said quietly. “There’s 


216 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


nothing in these letters that would interest you. 
They contain nothing but dry political rot. What 
do you care about that sort of thing ?” 

“Are you going to surrender them?” demanded 
Carmody, and the words sounded like an ultimatum. 

“I’ll promise to consider it if you will tell me 
why you want them.” 

The professor regarded him queerly. A look 
of bewilderment crossed his sullenly determined 
face. His crafty little eyes seemed to be trying to 
read Cole’s hidden thoughts. “Why pretend you 
don t know ?” he asked; then, in wheedling tones: 
“Come now! The joke has gone far enough. I 
know you are only trying to tease an old man. The 
letters, please.” 

Cole shook his head. Carmody’s very insistence 
upon obtaining the letters was reason enough why 
Cole should not give them up. Once more he 
started for the door, but a sharp “Wait!” inter¬ 
rupted his progress. 

Cole turned slowly and looked into the barrel of 
a pistol in Carmody’s hand. 

“My dear friend,” said the professor in his soft¬ 
est, lowest tones, “please do not force me to take 
drastic measures. It would grieve me exceedingly 
to have to deal harshly with you. The letters, 
please!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 

/^OLE’S only response to Professor Carmody’s 
soft-spoken ultimatum was a smile. He knew 
that the scientist was the kind of foe who is the 
most dangerous when he uses his gentlest tones. It 
struck him as droll that he was risking his life for 
the sake of a few letters which, as far as he could 
see, he could put to no earthly use. He would not 
know what to do with them even if he should be 
able to depart with them safely. It was only Car¬ 
mody’s earnestness in the matter that convinced 
him the letters must have a hidden significance. 

“Well, professor,” he said easily, “it looks like 
a deadlock. I don't want to give up the letters, 
and you seem in no hurry to shoot.” 

The professor smiled still more blandly and took 
a tighter grip on the pistol. Cole believed he 
would shoot rather than see him depart with the 
letters. There was a certain grimness about the 
gaunt form and the sallow face which warned him 
that Carmody was playing a desperate game for 
high stakes. As often happens in tense moments, 
his mind turned to trivial things. He pictured Car¬ 
lin waiting peevishly on the roof. He imagined 
Ballinger in the midst of another humorous yarn. 
A! ludicrous vision of the hunchback, chained to the 
operating table in Doctor Latham’s house, flitted 
through his mind. 

But the pistol in Carmody’s hand baffled him. He 


2 l8 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


felt no fear, but neither did he care to throw his 
life away needlessly. Once before in the past forty- 
eight hours he had looked into the muzzle of a pis¬ 
tol, but that one had been in Doctor Latham’s hand. 
He had laughed then and dared the physician to 
shoot, knowing that Latham, whatever other villain¬ 
ies he might be guilty of, was not the type that 
can shoot down a defenseless man in cold blood. 
He was too proud and high-spirited for that. With 
Carmody it was different. The professor was made 
of coarser stuff. He was not hampered by consid¬ 
erations of chivalry and fair play. He would shoot 
as soon as Cole’s back was turned. 

And so he restrained the impulse to laugh in 
the professor’s face and walk away. He preferred 
to bide his chance and watch for a sign of waver¬ 
ing in the hand that held the pistol. Growing tired 
of waiting, he decided to try a little stratagem that 
he had found successful in the past. It was a sim¬ 
ple trick and based on one of the many queer antics 
of the human mind. 

He looked away from the pistol and began to 
gaze fixedly at a point on the opposite wall. Mo¬ 
ments passed and grew into minutes, and still he 
stared rigidly, not a muscle in his face moving. 
His eyes were slanting upward, at a level of about 
a foot and a half above the professor’s head. The 
latter could not see what he was looking at, for he 
dared not turn his head, knowing that Cole would 
jump the moment he did so. At first he was mildly 
puzzled. Then his face showed signs of bewilder¬ 
ment. His curiosity changed into nervous concern. 

By and by he seemed plainly worried. It was 


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 


219 


evident that Cole’s fixed and silent scrutiny of some¬ 
thing which the professor could not see was seri¬ 
ously affecting his nerves. 

Cole’s rapt expression did not change in the slight¬ 
est degree. He just looked and looked at that blank 
point somewhere behind the professor’s back and 
just above his head. Carmody grew more and more 
disconcerted. A tension, which he was doing his 
best to check, was taking hold of him. He shifted 
from one foot to the other. A sense of something 
weird and unaccountable was stealing over him, 
despite his scientific poise of mind. 

At last came the chance for which Cole had 
waited. It was merely an uneasy flicker in Car- 
mody’s eyes, accompanied by a slight turn of the 
head. It was not much, but Cole knew that, for 
the moment, the professor’s mind was diverted 
from the pistol. It was risky, but he might not 
get another chance. He flexed his muscles, and 
leaped, first to one side, then straight at Carmody, 
wrenching the pistol from his hand. 

A squeallike cry broke from the professor’s lips. 
Cole chuckled as he ran. The scientist started in 
pursuit, but Cole slammed the door in his face. In 
another instant, putting the pistol in his pocket, he 
was climbing through the window. Soon he was 
hurrying up the fire escape. A dark figure, with 
coat tails flapping in the wind, hastened toward him, 
as he swung over the parapet and landed on the 
roof. 

“Where on earth have you been?” asked Carlin 
reproachfully. “I was just on the point of going 
down to look for you.” 


220 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Is there a man on the staff who understands 
ciphers ?” inquired Cole, taking the lawyer’s arm 
and hurrying him down from the roof. 

“Ciphers? Why, yes. Findlay Abbott is one of 
the best cipher experts in the country. What do 
you want of him?” 

“Find him and send him to my office,” said Cole 
hurriedly. Leaving the bewildered lawyer several 
paces behind, he ran down the corridor and entered 
his office. He had been there only a few moments 
when Abbott, a fat and pink-faced little man, trun¬ 
dled in. Behind him walked Carlin. Cole took 
the letters from his pocket and handed them to 
the expert. 

“See if you can make anything out of these, 
Abbott,” he directed. “All I know about them is 
that they are so important to one man that he was 
ready to shoot me on account of them. They may 
be in code.” 

Abbott looked as though he relished the task. 
He sat down, wiped his spectacles, and fell to work. 
In the meantime Cole told the lawyer of the episode 
in room 2512. 

Carlin’s eyes popped as he listened. He glanced 
with keen interest at the papers under Abbott’s nose. 
“You don’t think the offices of the Bureau of Civic 
Research are the headquarters of the gang we are 
fighting ?” 

“No,” said Cole thoughtfully. “In the morn¬ 
ing you might inquire of your agent how long the 
bureau has been located there. From what I saw, 
though, it looked as though the concern was on the 
square. It’s more likely that certain parties are 


221 


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 

using the offices as a listening post, because of their 
close proximity to this establishment. Knowing 
that we are fighting them, those fellows naturally 
want to find out how much we know and what our 
plans are. I have a strong suspicion that the dicta¬ 
phone wires ran into the rooms below. What do 
you make of those letters, Abbott ?” 

But Abbott was too deeply engrossed in his task 
to hear the question. The other two watched him 
in silence for a time. His puckered brow told 
that the letters presented a knotty problem. Finally 
he looked up. 

“No code here,” he declared. “These are just 
ordinary letters.” 

Sure of that ?” demanded Cole sharply. 

"As sure as one can be of anything. I'll wager 
my salary for the next ten years that these are just 
plain letters.” 

Then why did Carmody-” Cole suddenly 

gave the desk a resounding thwack. A light of com¬ 
prehension dawned in his eyes. “I take my hat off 
to the professor. He is a slick little trickster. He 
wanted to get me away from there, having private 
business to attend to, and so he pulled the wool over 
my eyes and made me think that these letters were 
a matter of life or death. Carlin, I’m a boob!” 

He bounded from the office, leaving the lawyer 
and Abbott to stare at each other. He was angry, 
but only with himself. For'' the crafty professor 
he felt an unwilling admiration, but he was also 
determined not to let Carmody have the last laugh. 

The discovery that Englebreth’s letters were genu¬ 
ine had given him a sharp mental jolt. A suspicion 


222 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


had been gradually assuming shape and clarity in 
his mind, but the cipher expert’s report had uprooted 
it completely. All that those letters now meant to 
Cole was a wasted hour and a sense of humiliation. 

He hurried up to the roof, then down the fire 
escape, and soon he stood once more outside the 
door of room 2512. Carmody had had ample time 
to dispose of whatever business had brought him 
there, but it was just possible that he had not yet 
left, so Cole entered as quietly as he could. The 
moment he closed the door behind him he knew he 
was too late. The light that appeared at his touch 
on the button revealed two empty rooms. 

Cole moved forward, looking sharply over walls 
and behind furniture. Perhaps Carmody had acci¬ 
dentally left some clew to his mysterious errand. 
It was even possible that Cole might get an inkling 
as to the discovery that had cost McKendrick his 
life. He searched carefully, but at first with no 
results. There were fresh, but very faint, foot¬ 
prints on the floor, and he could easily locate the 
spot where he and Carmody had stood, while the 
professor was pointing the pistol at him. Which 
way had Carmody turned after Cole left the offices? 
The footprints reached to the door and then back 
into the inner office. Evidently Carmody had locked 
himself in before attending to his errand. With 
some difficulty Cole traced the faint marks across 
the floor, muttering a short exclamation when he 
found that they led straight to the safe, standing 
in a corner of the room. 

Cole had given the safe only a cursory glance 
on his previous visit to the office. Carmody’s en- 


223 


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 

trance had prevented him from making a more care¬ 
ful examination. Now he saw that the safe was 
one of the best and latest makes. There was a look 
of freshness about the blue steel surface and the 
bright nickel trimmings which suggested it had not 
been there long. He remembered that this particu¬ 
lar brand of safe, in addition to its other adver¬ 
tised merits, was supposed to be air-tight and abso¬ 
lutely burglar proof. It seemed rather large for a 
concern whose affairs were transacted in two small 
rooms, but, perhaps, it had been selected with a 
view to growing needs. 

The course of the footprints made it plain that 
Carmody’s errand had been related to the safe in 
some way, but that was as far as Cole’s deductions 
reached. Whether the professor had removed some¬ 
thing from the steel box, or put something in, he 
had no means of knowing, and the locked door pre¬ 
vented him from gratifying his curiosity on that 
point. It did not stop him from exercising his 
imagination, however. With a grim nod and a 
tightening of the lips he made a guess in regard to 
Carmody’s business with the safe. 

There was nothing more he could do for the 
present, so he made his way back to the headquar¬ 
ters of The Unknown Seven. In the hall he met 
Carlin. 

“Well?” asked the lawyer. “Found out any¬ 
thing?” 

“The more I find out about this case the less I 
know,” confessed Cole. “All the same, I think I 
know what it was McKendrick saw that cost him 
his life.” 


224 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Carlin’s brows came up. 

“But I’m not going to tell you what it was,” 
Cole added quickly. “I may be mistaken, you see, 
and I don’t propose to jeopardize my reputation 
with you. By the way, there’s a new safe in num¬ 
ber .2512, as nifty an article of that kind as I ever 
saw. Pretty good size, too. Big enough for a man 
of your dimensions to sit down in, Carlin.” 

“You’re not going to ask me to crawl into it, 
I hope?” 

“No, nothing like that. I just have a hunch that 
in the morning that safe is going to be taken out 
of 2512.” 

“Anything unusual in that?” 

“Nothing at all, and that’s just what certain par¬ 
ties are counting on, I think. There are times 
when it is expedient to do the unusual thing under 
cover of the usual. I want you to detail a man to 
see what happens to that safe, Carlin.” 

The lawyer nodded, but in the next instant his 
eyes opened wide in astonishment. “You don’t 
think that-” 

“As I said before,” Cole interrupted, “I don’t care 
to risk my reputation on a guess that may prove 
unfounded. Seen anything of Ballinger lately?” 

“Not for half an hour or so. Been busy in the 
main office.” 

Cole gave him a keen glance. “What’s the mat¬ 
ter, Carlin? You look worried.” 

The lawyer forced a smile. “It’s just a—a pre¬ 
monition. I guess that’s what you would call it. 

I have a feeling that the gang knows we are clos¬ 
ing in around them, and that they are getting ready 


THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 


225 

to cash in. We must strike quickly, or it will be 
too late.” 

‘T don’t know but what you are right. I’ve felt 
something of the same kind myself. We must not 
only strike quickly, but with both fists.” As if he 
had meant it literally, Cole looked down at his 
clenched hands. 

“But where, Cole? Where are we going to strike? 
We don’t know who the leader of the gang is. 
That is, we can’t be sure. We don’t know where 
the plant is located. We don’t even know-” 

“You make me dizzy,” said Cole with a chuckle, 
and then he turned abruptly and walked into his 
private office. There he pressed a button, and in 
a few moments Sambo entered. 

“Ask Miss Brownell to step in here,” Cole told 
the big negro. 

Sambo’s eyes opened wide, showing a generous 
expanse of white. “Why, she done lef’ a hour ago, 
sah. She went out in a mighty rush, too.” 

“Sure of that, Sambo?” 

“Course I’s sure. I seed her mahself. It was 
just after Doc Ballinger lef’, sah.” 

“Doctor Ballinger?” 

“Yes, sah. The doc looked lahk he was wurried. 
The wurriedest man I eveh seed, sah. He tried not 
to let on, but he didn’t fool mah a-tall, sah.” 

“And you say Miss Brownell left shortly after¬ 
ward ?” 

“Yes, sah. Not more’n a minute, sah.” 

Cole jumped up from his chair. For a moment 
he stared at the gigantic negro, then waved a hand 
in dismissal. He had instructed Miss Brownell to 



226 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


put one of the men on Ballinger’s trail, in case the 
physician should go out. Now it seemed evident 
that the girl herself had started out to shadow the 
doctor. Cole could only hope that her audacity 
would not lead her into trouble. His acquaintance 
with women had been only casual, and he had an 
impression that they either fainted in a crisis, or 
else burst into tears. Miss Brownell was, of course, 
a variant from the usual type, but just the same- 

Cole sat down again. After all, he could no noth¬ 
ing for the present, and Miss Brownell seemed to 
have a surprising capacity for taking care of her¬ 
self. He would stay close to the telephone, and, in 
due time, she would undoubtedly call him up. He 
waited, but the instrument at his side remained tan- 
talizingly silent. When at length it shrilled a sum¬ 
mons, he jumped nervously. 

But the person calling was not Miss Brownell. 
Instead, it was Sloane, the operative whom Cole had 
detailed to watch Doctor Latham’s residence. 
Latham and the hunchback had been far from his 
mind for several hours. 

“What is it, Sloane?” he asked quietly. 

Sloane reported that for the last hour a myste¬ 
rious light had appeared at intervals in one of 
the windows of the doctor’s house. It might mean 
anything or nothing, and Sloane did not know what 
to make of it, so he was telephoning in for instruc¬ 
tions. 

“Stay where you are,” Cole told him. “I’ll be 
with you in a little while.” 

For a few moments longer he sat at the desk, 
his mind working quickly. It was just possible that 



THE LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 


227 


at Latham's house he would End some clew to the 
movements of Ballinger and Miss Brownell. There 
was a fog in his mind, the result of too many con¬ 
flicting developments, but there were a few things 
that seemed clear. 

Soon he was out on the street. In less than half 
an hour he reached the corner nearest Latham’s 
house and walked east on the opposite side of the 
street. He cast sharp glances into the shadows 
along the row of buildings. Suddenly he stopped. 
“Sloane,” he said in a low tone. 

The scholarly looking operative stepped out of a 
gloomy doorway. “Glad you came, sir,” he whis¬ 
pered. “Things look queer.” 

“What about the light you mentioned?” 

“It comes and goes, every two minutes or so. 
Look! There it is!” 

He pointed to a window on the second floor of 
the physician’s residence. A small, flickering light 
had just appeared. It wavered for a few moments, 
then faded out. The two men waited in silence, 
and presently the mysterious light came back. All 
the other windows were dark, and the solitary glow 
had an eerie look. 

“Stay here,” said Cole. “Don’t move unless I sig¬ 
nal you by whistling three times from one of the 
windows.” 

Briskly he crossed the street. A bunch of skele¬ 
ton keys rattled in his hand, as he vanished from 
sight in the dark basement entrance. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A WARNING 

\ 7 ERY softly Cole crept up the stairs. On the 
* ground floor he stopped for a moment and 
listened. A heavy silence seemed to hover over the 
entire house. He stole up another flight of stairs 
and turned toward a door in front. The knob 
turned noiselessly in his hand, but the door was 
locked. He stooped and tried to peep through the 
keyhole, but he could see nothing. 

A few moments passed; then a slight scratching 
sound, like that produced when a match is struck, 
was heard within. At the same time a faint glow 
was visible through the keyhole. It lasted for ten 
seconds or so, and then all was darkness again. 
It was evident now that the intermittent glow 
which Cole had seen from the sidewalk had been 
produced by some one striking a number of matches. 

Suddenly he stood erect, listening. For a moment 
he thought he had heard a slight sound, coming 
from somewhere below, but apparently he had been 
mistaken. He had entered so quietly that it did 
not seem possible Doctor Latham's sleep could have 
been disturbed by his movements. Again he fixed 
his attention on the door, for once more a scrrrrch 
came from the room. Through the keyhole, just 
before the fluttering light went out, he caught a 
glimpse of the hunchback. 

Cole was puzzled. What could the hunchback 


A WARNING 


229 


be doing, and what did the frequent striking of 
matches mean? He waited, uncertain what to do, 
but strongly tempted to open the door with one 
of his skeleton keys. Moments passed, and he lis¬ 
tened in vain for further repetitions of the scratch¬ 
ing sounds. Instead, he heard what sounded like 
a half-suppressed chuckle. Evidently the hunch¬ 
back had found something that pleased him. A 
faint tinkle came through the keyhole, followed by 
a louder sound, like that of a heavy object being 
dragged across the floor. Then silence. 

Cole felt in his pockets for his bunch of keys, 
but he quickly withdrew his hand and cast a glance 
over his shoulders. This time he knew he was not 
mistaken. Some one was moving about on the 
floor below, but so softly that Cole’s keen ears 
detected only a faint suspicion of a sound. His 
eyes darted to left and right in search of a hiding 
place, but the best he could find was the corner back 
of the stairway railing. He pressed against the wall 
and crouched low. 

Some one was coming up the stairs. He was 
determined to learn as much as he could before he 
made his presence known. The meager light from 
the little electric bulb in the ceiling revealed a sweep 
of bald cranium, by which he easily identified Doc¬ 
tor Latham. Perhaps he had been awakened by 
the hunchback’s movements, or perhaps Cole’s en¬ 
trance had partly aroused him, and he had just now; 
become fully awake. 

The doctor swept past him without a glance in 
his direction and moved straight toward the room 
occupied by the hunchback. There he stopped, took 


230 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. He 
pushed it open and stood in a listening attitude. 
Even from his remote position in the rear of the 
hall, he could hear a lusty snoring. It was strange, 
since he knew that the hunchback had been wide 
awake only a few minutes ago. Evidently the 
fellow was up to a ruse of some kind. 

Suddenly Latham turned and walked quickly to¬ 
ward the rear. For a moment Cole thought he had 
been discovered, but the doctor took only half a 
dozen steps down the hall. Standing on the stair¬ 
way railing he removed the electric bulb from its 
socket in the ceiling, then entered the hunchback's 
room. The hall was now dark, and Cole thought 
it safe to come forward. He reached the door 
just as a light appeared within. Peeping through 
the crack between the door and the jamb he saw 
that the physician had attacked the bulb to a wall 
fixture. Now he was standing beside the operating 
table to which the hunchback had been linked for 
the past twenty-four hours, leaning over the motion¬ 
less figure lying on it. 

He mumbled something beneath his breath, then 
gave the hunchback’s shoulder a vigorous shaking. 
The snoring stopped. The fellow sat up with diffi¬ 
culty and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. 

“You needn’t pretend,” said Latham. He was 
arrayed in the same dressing gown in which Cole 
had seen him once before. “I know you haven’t 
been sleeping. Where did you find these matches?” 

He pointed to a litter of charred stubs on the 
floor. The hunchback eyed him stolidly and 
shrugged his misshapen shoulders. 


A WARNING 


231 


The doctor’s glance went to an old battered safe 
in a corner of the room. He stepped up to it 
and tried the lock. 

“Thought you might be tempted to while away 
the time by investigating this old safe of mine,” he 
declared. “I removed the bulb on purpose, so you 
wouldn’t make much headway with it. Not that 
you would have found much if you had opened it, 
only a few papers.” 

Again he gazed at the charred fragments scat¬ 
tered over the floor. Cole, looking through the 
narrow crack, saw a puzzled frown on his bearded 
face. The room was small, and the conglomera¬ 
tion of articles in it suggested it was used in part 
for storage purposes. The scattered match stubs 
perplexed Cole as much as they did the doctor. 

“There might have been a box in one of the 
bureau drawers,” muttered the physician. “I sup¬ 
pose that’s where you found them. I don’t see, 
though, what pleasure you derive from burning up a 
lot of matches.” 

Cole was watching the hunchback’s face. A look 
of sly satisfaction lurked in the sallow features 
Once the fellow bent a squinting glance on some 
object across the floor, but all Cole could see at that 
particular point was a dilapidated trunk. His be¬ 
wilderment grew. The scene between the physician 
and the hunchback was not exactly what he might 
have suspected. He sensed a hidden element in it. 
He was aware of a curious strain and tension in 
the air. 

“I thought I heard you drag the table over the 


232 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


floor/’ remarked the doctor. “You were not doing 
it just for exercise. What was your idea?” 

Again a look of secret elation crossed the hunch¬ 
back’s face. He jingled the steel links that held 
one of his hands to the table. 

“Aw, can’t a guy move about a bit if he wants 
to?” he asked. “Sittin’ still in one place all the 
time gets on a feller’s nerve. I didn’t do no harm.” 

The physician regarded him searchingly. Evi¬ 
dently he, too, had seen the furtive smirk in the 
hunchback’s face. He stepped briskly to the op¬ 
erating cot and shook the fellow’s arm. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” he remarked. “You 
have been up to some kind of deviltry, my man. 
Now-” 

The sentence ended in a gasp. In a twinkling 
the hunchback had wrenched his arm free of the 
doctor’s grasp. Cole was amazed at the swift play 
of his fingers. He could scarcely see what was 
happening, but a loop fell down over the physician’s 
head and was tightened around his throat with a 
quick jerk. He spluttered and choked, while the 
hunchback snickered gleefully. 

“I got yuh now!” declared the little man, draw¬ 
ing the loop still tighter. The doctor wriggled and 
squirmed, but the constriction at his throat weak¬ 
ened his efforts. The whole scene seemed unreal 
to Cole. It took him several moments to realize 
that Latham was being garroted by the man who 
had found refuge in his house after murdering 
Malcolm Reeves. 

He bounded forward, and a well-aimed blow 
sent the hunchback reeling back over the operating 



A WARNING 


233 


table. The garrote, made up of two shoe laces 
tied together, had bitten deep into the flesh around 
the doctor’s throat. His eyes bulged, and his 
gaping lips were bloodless. A hoarse rattle sounded 
in his throat, as he struggled for breath. 

In a short time the noose was undone, and the 
physician sank into a chair. While he sucked air 
into his lungs in great gulps he looked queerly at 
Cole. The hunchback lay sullenly silent on the 
table. 

“Your visit was very opportune this time,” mur¬ 
mured Latham, as soon as he began to breathe more 
easily. “Where did you come from?” 

Cole signified with a shrug that the matter was 
of no importance. “What’s gotten into this protege 
of yours?” he asked with a glance at the hunch¬ 
back. “Did he go crazy all of a sudden?” 

“Oh, no; he’s as sane this moment as he ever 
was or ever will be. I knew he would kill me if 
he got a chance, and so I did all I could to deprive 
him of the opportunity.” 

There was doubt and bewilderment in Cole’s gaze. 
“But why should he kill you? I thought-” 

“Yes, I think I know what you thought,” inter¬ 
rupted the doctor. “For a man of keen intellect 
you have a singular capacity for getting things 
twisted. I suppose, however, it isn’t to be wondered 
at under the circumstances. Wonder where the 
fellow got those shoe laces. I thought I had re¬ 
moved from his reach everything that might serve 
as an implement of murder.” 

Cole stepped to the trunk at which the hunch¬ 
back had been squinting from time to time. He 



234 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

lifted the lid, and the first thing he saw was a pair 
of old shoes from which the laces had been re¬ 
moved. 

Latham looked at him in surprise. ‘That trunk 
was locked this morning,” he remarked. 

“The lock is a very simple one,” Cole observed. 
“Even a man with only one arm could pick it 
without much trouble. With a supply of matches 
handy, the removal of the electric bulb didn’t give 
him much of a handicap. You seem to lead a very 
exciting life, doctor.” 

The doctor smiled. He felt quite at ease again. 
He got up from the chair and strolled over to the 
table where the hunchback lay. 

“You are really very simple,” he declared. “Didn’t 
you know that murdering me wouldn’t help you out 
of your predicament? Why, you would have starved 
to death if you had carried out your attempt.” 

Guess again. The fellow leered insolently. 
“My pals woulda found me before long. To-night, 
maybe.” 

“What’s your grudge against the doctor?” inquired 
Cole. “Why did you try to kill him?” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” retorted the hunch¬ 
back, wagging his head in the physician’s direction. 

Our friend doesn’t seem very communicative,” 
observed Latham. “I don’t think he will attempt 
any more mischief to-night. Suppose we go down 
and sample one of my cigars?” 

Cole assented, but not until he had searched the 
hunchback and removed a handful of matches. He 
believed the doctor knew the motive behind the mur¬ 
derous attempt. There was a fog in his mind, for 


A WARNING 235 

the scene he had just witnessed did not seem to 
harmonize with his previous observations. 

“You are a cool one, doctor/’ he remarked when 
they were down in the consultation room and the 
physician had passed his box of cigars. 

“Life hardens one. I sometimes wish I hadn’t 
lost my emotional susceptibilities. They are the 
things that give color and tone to life. Life with¬ 
out thrills is a barren desert.” 

Cole suddenly recalled his original errand. He 
bent forward and looked the doctor full in the 
eyes. “There is one question I want to ask. You 
may not be able or willing to answer it. Where is 
Miss Brownell?” 

The question acted like an electric shock on the 
physician, upsetting his magnificent composure as 
nothing else could have done. A suspicion of pallor 
crept up beneath the black beard. 

“What about her?” he demanded sharply. “Has 
anything happened to her?” 

Cole smiled amusedly. “For a man who has lost 
his emotional susceptibilities you manage to work 
up quite a lot of feeling over a simple question. 
You know the lady I am referring to?” 

“Why—er—slightly.” 

Cole gave him a hard, searching glance. He 
felt the doctor had deliberately understated the truth. 
“Miss Brownell disappeared this evening/’ he an¬ 
nounced. “I came here in the hope of learning 
something of her whereabouts from you.” 

“Why from me?” Latham was laboring under a 
tension that he tried hard to suppress. 

“Several trails seem to point in your direction, 


236 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

doctor. Do you know what has become of Miss 
Brownell ?” 

Latham gripped the arms of his chair. “I swear 
I haven’t the faintest idea,” he declared, looking 
Cole straight in the eyes. 

Cole believed him. There was something in the 
doctor’s tone and manner that carried conviction. 
He knew that for once the man was not shamming. 
His gaze cut deep into the physician’s bewildering 
personality, and he found not a trace of duplicity. 

“What is Miss Brownell to you?” he asked bluntly. 
“Not in love with her, are you, doctor?” 

The bearded lips parted in a faint smile. “I 
admire her immensely. Have known her for a long 
time. Was a friend of her father’s. A very charm¬ 
ing young person indeed. But at my age one 
hesitates before he permits himself to fall in 
love. Besides, Miss Brownell is not likely to en¬ 
tertain any romantic notions in regard to me.” 

Cole nodded thoughtfully. Despite the doctor’s 
light tone and airy gestures, the real Dickson 
Latham stood revealed before him. 

“I understand, doctor,” he said meaningly. “I 
see how it is with you. As for Miss Brownell, 
she left a certain place, about an hour and a half 
ago, in pursuit of a colleague of yours, Doctor 
Ballinger.” 

A queer little mutter slipped from Latham’s lips. 
He clenched his hands convulsively; his face under¬ 
went a startling transformation; a mingling of hate 
and fear showed in his dark, flashing eyes. 

“That hound!” he mumbled under his breath, evi¬ 
dently not intending Cole to hear. With an inward 


A WARNING 


237 


wrench he steadied himself; in the next moment 
he seemed cool and composed. “In that case we 
must endeavor to find her,” he added aloud. 

“More easily said than done, doctor. Have you 
any idea where Ballinger might have taken her, in 
the event that she should have fallen into his hands?” 

“There is one place he would naturally take her 
to, but I don’t know the geographical location of it.” 

“In plain words, the headquarters of a certain 
gang of alchemists and cutthroats?” 

Latham nodded. 

“You are mixed up with this gang, aren’t you, 
doctor ?” 

“I was.” 

“And you performed an operation on Malcolm 
Reeves?” Cole watched him closely to observe the 
effect of his question. 

“That is true,” said Latham in a queer tone. 
He smiled a sad, whimsical smile. “But you must 
have observed that truth sometimes covers a multi¬ 
tude of lies.” 

Cole pondered this cryptical statement. “One 
more question. Why did the hunchback try to kill 
you?” 

“Some men are willing to do anything for money. 
But this line of talk isn’t leading us anywhere. 
The thing of prime importance is to find Miss 
Brownell. From what little I know of the gang, 
to which you referred, I should say her life isn’t 
worth a plugged nickel if she has fallen into their 
hands.” 

He spoke evenly, but Cole sensed an ache behind 


238 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


the words. “Do you know the leader of the or¬ 
ganization ?” was his next question. 

“He was never referred to by name in my pres¬ 
ence, and I never came in contact with him. In 
my dealings with the members I never got higher 
than Professor Carmody.” 

Again, despite the contradictions and discrepan¬ 
cies that hemmed in the doctor’s statements, Cole 
was disposed to believe him. “There is no cause 
for alarm just at present,” he declared. “We don’t 
know that Miss Brownell is in trouble. She is a 
capable young woman and-” 

“Ah, but you don’t know Ballinger,” interrupted 
Latham. 

Cole reached for the telephone and called the 
number of The Unknown Seven. After a brief 
delay he was connected with Carlin. 

“Where are you?” demanded the lawyer excitedly. 
“Been trying to get hold of you everywhere.” 

“What has happened?” asked Cole evenly, though 
the lawyer’s agitation was contagious. 

“Happened!” echoed Carlin. “Received an 
anonymous telephone message a while ago warning 
us that, unless we keep hands off, Miss Brownell 
will be dead inside twenty-four hours!” 



CHAPTER XX 

THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 

HTHE doctor’s face betrayed his anxiety, as Cole 

A repeated what he had just heard over the tele¬ 
phone. 

‘That settles it,” muttered the physician. “We 
must find Miss Brownell at once.” 

Cole nodded. For several minutes he had been 
watching the physician closely. It was as if a veil 
had been removed from one phase of Latham’s 
many-sided character. Cole looked through the 
contradictions of his personality, and he knew that 
on one point, at least, the doctor was sincere. That 
was in his attitude toward Miss Brownell. 

“There’s no hurry,” he said calmly. “Nothing is 
going to happen to her for twenty-four hours.” 

“But why delay?” 

“Because we can do nothing else. Another rea¬ 
son is that I need sleep. The third reason is 
Toots.” 

“Toots?” Lathem frowned. “Who is Toots?” 

“The most distracted cat in the State of New 
York at the present moment. My rooms were in¬ 
vaded by prowlers this afternoon, everything thrown 
helter-skelter, and Toots just can’t bear fuss of any 
kind. She is a very temperamental cat, doctor. 
You will hear from me in the morning.” 

He left the scowling physician and walked toward 
the door. There he stopped and looked back. 


240 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Don’t worry,” he said. “We will see Miss Brownell 
out of this. There's something of a plan buzzing 
around in my mind. So long, doctor.” 

Cole walked out. Despite his cheerful tone he 
was not altogether free from worry. The situation, 
as far as Miss Brownell was concerned, looked 
critical enough. With the fate of Reeves and Mc- 
Kendrick in mind, Cole knew the gang would not 
stop short of murder, if it suited their plans. The 
hope he had tried to instill in Doctor Latham was 
based on the advantages which he held over the 
other side. So far Ballinger did. not know that he 
was being suspected, and this was an important point 
in Cole's favor. A man who thinks himself safe is 
apt to make blunders and become incautious. An¬ 
other advantage lay in the fact that the con¬ 
spirator's knew nothing of the deductions Cole had 
made from Carmody’s visit to the offices of the 
Bureau of Civic Research, or of his suspicions in 
regard to the big safe standing there. 

Cole went home, noticed with approval that Mrs. 
Armstrong had tidied up his rooms, and that Toots 
was sleeping tranquilly on her favorite cushion. 
In a few minutes Cole himself was sound asleep. 
Five hours he slept, and then he awoke clear-eyed 
and vigorous. After feeding Toots and getting his 
own breakfast, he went to the offices of The Un¬ 
known Seven. On his desk he found a note from 
Carlin announcing that the lawyer had, in accord¬ 
ance with Cole's instructions, detailed one of the 
operatives to watch room 2512 and report at once 
if the safe should be taken out. 

Cole crumpled the note in his fist. It was yet 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 241 

early, and only a few members of the staff were 
on duty. He went to the end of the hall and 
glanced into the room where the body of McKen- 
drick lay. What to do with it was a delicate prob¬ 
lem in view of the fact that the operations of The 
Unknown Seven were being conducted secretly. 
Perhaps the best way, was Cole’s reflection, would 
be to encase it in a plain box and ship it anony¬ 
mously to the morgue. Later, in some indirect way, 
he would endeavor to see that the hunchback was 
duly punished. 

He locked the door of the little room and went 
back to his office. He had been there only a few 
minutes when Doctor Ballinger, after a discreet 
knock, stepped in. 

“You are early, doctor,” remarked Cole genially. 

Ballinger sat down and crossed his long legs. 
“I’ve been looking for Miss Brownell,” he ex¬ 
plained. “Seen anything of her?” 

“No,” said Cole casually, knowing that the doc¬ 
tor was watching him keenly. “A bit too early 
for her, I guess. No doubt she will be strolling in 
soon.” 

“Making any progress?” 

“Rome wasn’t built in one day,” said Cole 
evasively, knowing that the question was a subtle 
feeler. “I’m just taking hold of the job, you know.” 

“Still think there’s a traitor among us?” 

“I not only think it, but I am sure of it,” de¬ 
clared Cole testily, as if reproaching himself for his 
failure to expose the renegade. He was on the 
point of saying more, but just then the telephone 


242 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

rang. It was Fessenden, the operative who had been 
detailed to watch room 2512. 

“They’re just taking it out, sir,” reported Fessen¬ 
den, cautiously hiding the gist of his statement be¬ 
hind the neutral pronoun. 

“Well, stay on the job and report developments 
to me,” said Cole in tones that seemed to indicate 
that the matter was of no particular importance. 
“You see,” he went on, turning to the doctor, as 
he hung up the receiver, “I spilled the beans at 
dinner. The traitor has had his warning, and from 
now on he will be a hard man to catch.” 

The doctor agreed with him. They discussed the 
matter from various angles and finally the telephone 
rang again. Fessenden reported that “it” had been 
loaded onto a truck. 

“Stay with it,” said Cole laconically. “Telephone 
me when you can.” He was aware of a question¬ 
ing gleam in the doctor’s eyes, as he hung up, but 
he pretended to have noticed nothing. “Fessenden 
thinks he has come across a clew,” he added for 
Ballinger’s benefit. “Don’t think it amounts to any¬ 
thing, but it’s just as well to run it down.” 

“What sort of clew?” 

“It seems to have something to do with the 
murder of Reeves,” said Cole indifferently. “Not 
more than one clew out of twenty ever pans out, 
and I haven’t much hope for this one.” 

The doctor seemed to have been deceived by his 
tone. After a few more remarks he walked out. In 
spite of what he had told Carlin the night before, 
he had been far from certain that the safe would 
be taken out; at any rate he had not expected it 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 


243 


would be done before another night. Fessenden’s 
report had started a long train of thoughts in his 
mind. 

Shortly before noon the lawyer walked in. 

“I’ve just made some inquiries about the Bureau 
of Civic Research,’' he reported, after he had been 
told that there was no news of Miss Brownell. 

There isn t the slightest doubt about its genuine¬ 
ness. Some of the biggest men in town belong to 
it. It’s a sort of reform organization; interested 
in political uplift and that kind of thing. They’ve 
occupied the two offices down below ever since the 
building opened.” 

“That’s interesting,” said Cole, looking as if his 
trend of thought had taken a sharp quirk. “By the 
way, the safe was taken out of room 2512 a little 
while ago.” 

“Anything startling in that?” 

“Well, it’s just possible that, if we can follow 
the safe to its destination, we shall find Miss 
Brownell.” 

“How do you make that out? What has the 
safe to do with Miss Brownell?” 

My reasoning is based on the assumption that 
certain parties are as anxious to hide the one as the 
other. If that is so then it is only natural to sup¬ 
pose that they will hide both in one place. That 
safe, Carlin, represents our only hope of getting 
Miss Brownell out of danger.” 

The lawyer scratched his head thoughtfully. “I 
would advise you to move cautiously. Those black¬ 
guards would kill her without slightest hesitancy 
if-” 


244 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Oh, I’ll be careful,” promised Cole. “All the 
same we must move quickly. I think your hunch 
yesterday was right, Carlin. The gang is getting 
ready to cash in their chips. They are holding 
the threat of death over Miss Brownell in the hope 
of influencing us through her and making us let 
them alone till after the clean-up. The miserable 
cowards are hiding behind a woman. The idea 
makes me mad clean through.” 

“You look it,” observed Carlin. Shortly after¬ 
ward he withdrew, and a little while later Fessenden 
telephoned that the safe had been transferred to 
a private yacht, moored at the foot of West One 
Hundred and Thirtieth Street. Fessenden did not 
know to whom the craft belonged. He added that 
it did not look as though the boat would start for a 
while, for the crew were on shore leave. Cole 
instructed him to report at once if it should appear 
that the yacht was about to sail. 

“They’ll probably wait till after dark,” he told 
himself after Fessenden had finished. “Rather bold 
of them to put it aboard a yacht in broad daylight. 
Really no reason why they shouldn’t, though,” was 
his second thought. “As far as they know, nobody 
suspects anything. It would look as if the safe was 
being shipped to a summer home somewhere along 
the shore. Many people keep jewelry and other 
valuables in such places, and a safe comes in handy. 
And to transport it by water on a private yacht 
is less risky than intrusting it to the express com¬ 
panies. There’ll be a merry little chase to-night.” 

Cole looked as if a whimsical idea had occurred 
to him. He called up Latham and inquired if the 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 245 

doctor owned a motor boat. The physician re¬ 
plied that he did; it was a small affair, he ex¬ 
plained, but a demon for speed. Cole promised 
that he would learn something interesting if he 
would have the boat ready within an hour, at a 
certain point along the river. Latham's imagina¬ 
tion seemed to cover the gaps in Cole's statement, 
for he promptly agreed to do as suggested. 

After giving several orders Cole left the office. 
His rendezvous with Latham was a short distance 
below the point where the larger craft was moored. 
Before boarding the doctor's boat Cole went cau¬ 
tiously forward and sought out Fessenden. 

The wind is slack, and the engine seems to be 
out of order," explained the operative. “I believe 
somebody is tinkering with it." 

Have you learned who owns the yacht?" 

I ve made several inquiries, but nobody seems to 
know. She is brand-new, as you can see, and this 
appears to be the first time she has been anchored 
here." 

Cole cast a glance at the queenly craft, its fresh 
coat of paint gleaming in the pale autumnal sun¬ 
light. After telling Fessenden that he could take 
the rest of the afternoon off he went back to Doctor 
Latham. The physician, looking fresh and crisp 
m blue coat and creamy flannel trousers, sat at 
the tiller. 

“When do we start?" he inquired anxiously. 

“We’re waiting for the other party to make the 
first move," explained Cole, pointing out the larger 
boat, easily distinguishable among the craft of vari¬ 
ous types that littered the surface of the river. 


246 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Any news of Miss Brownell ?” 

“Not a word, doctor. Are you in the mood for 
a little excitement ?” 

The physician said nothing, but his smile and 
the squaring of his shoulders spoke more loudly 
than words. Cole glanced out over the horizon. 
A frieze of clouds was creeping up in the south, 
and a rising wind rippled the water. 

“I suppose you are armed ?” he asked after a 
while. 

The doctor slapped his hip pocket significantly 
“Are we likely to have a scrap ?” he inquired in a 
tone hinting that the prospect appealed to him 
hugely. 

“Quite likely! The rats are scenting danger and 
crawling into their hole. We may have to tackle a 
whole nest of them.” 

The afternoon waned and still they waited. Dark¬ 
ness fell, and a spanking breeze blew up. At Cole’s 
suggestion the doctor moved the motor boat a little 
closer to the larger craft. 

“They are hoisting the sail,” observed Latham, 
as he brought the boat to a stop at a point from 
which they could watch the yacht without danger 
of being seen by its crew. Here and there the 
black ribbon of water was broken by twinkling 
lights. An excursion steamer swept majestically up 
the Hudson, with a tail of foaming silver in its 
wake. 

Presently the yacht moved. The two men in the 
motor boat waited a while to give it headway. Then 
the doctor flipped the wheel, and, with a gleeful 
phut-phut, the little boat darted forward. Like an 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 247 

animated thing it skipped giddily across the water, 
darting in and out among larger vessels. After a 
little the sprinkling of boats thinned out, and they 
hugged the shore closely, in order to avoid being 
seen by the yacht's crew. 

‘Think you can keep her in sight, doctor?” asked 
Cole, noticing with concern that the larger boat 
was gaining speed. 

Easily,” said the doctor confidently, ‘‘unless the 
motor should start missing, and there’s little danger 
of that.” 

They were silent for a time. Cole, sitting close 
by, watched the intent look on the doctor’s face 
as he guided the boat along the curving river bank. 
The shore line grew more rugged; here and there 
earth and sky melted into a blur. Now and then the 
lights of a town threw a yellow sheen over the 
murky water. At intervals the yacht disappeared 
from view behind a jutting tongue of land, but it 
was never out of sight for long. 

“Doctor,” said Cole abruptly, “I don’t quite know 
what to make of you, but we seem to have one 
interest in common. Both of us are concerned over 
Miss Brownell. I am partly responsible for what¬ 
ever happens to her, while you- But I think 

you told me that your emotional self is dead.” 

A queer little chuckle drifted out on the breeze. 
There was a note of grim despair in it. 

“Anyhow,” Cole went on, “there is a bond of 
interest between you and me for the present. Seems 
we ought to understand each other a little better. 
The other night, when I trailed the hunchback to 
your house and later found him asleep on the op- 


248 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

erating table, your conduct was as mysterious as the 
deuce. What had happened?” 

The doctor, one hand on the tiller, gazed rigidly 
out over the black water to where the gray blur 
of a sail was visible against the darkness. 

“The thing which we call human intelligence 
is only a thin veneer,” he remarked in whimsical 
tones. “Sometimes only a slight thrust is needed 
to break through it. It is very amusing to watch 
the antics that a supposedly sane being will perform 
when a crisis of some sort comes along and gives 
him a jolt. My own part in this affair is an example 
of what happens when the veneer of intelligence 
cracks. You would not believe me if I were to tell 
you, so what is the use?” 

“You might try,” suggested Cole. The doctor 
had been a changed man since he learned that Miss 
Brownell was in danger. Before that he had been 
all subterfuge, evasions, and bewildering subtleties. 
Now Cole felt that he was face to face with the 
man’s real self. 

“The hunchback came to my house that night to 
dispatch me to a better world,” Latham said. 

“He had just performed a similar service for 
Malcolm Reeves,” Cole observed. 

“He had orders to get me, too. The gang feared 
both of us, and they had come to a pass where 
they couldn’t afford to stand on ceremony. Well, 
that night I heard some one getting in the base¬ 
ment way. That’s the advantage of being a light 
sleeper. I collared the fellow as he came up the 
stairs. Not knowing what to do with him I .gave 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 249 

him a hypodermic to keep him quiet. Then you 
came and complicated the situation.” 

“If the hunchback came to your house to mur¬ 
der you,” said Cole doubtfully, “why didn’t you 
turn him over to the police?” 

The doctor chuckled softly. “That shows how 
incongruously we sometimes act, strutting around 
like hens with their heads chopped off. Your own 
conduct was very peculiar that night. I was won¬ 
dering why, instead of handcuffing the culprit to 
my operating table, you didn’t telephone for the 
police wagon.” 

“I had a reason.” 

“And so did I.” The doctor chuckled again. 
“At least I thought I had a sound reason for my 
conduct. As a matter of fact my reason was at 
a standstill; no doubt yours was likewise. At any 
rate I didn’t dare hand the fellow over to the 
police. Certain things had happened that made it 
undesirable for me to communicate with the au¬ 
thorities.” 

“The operation on Reeves?” Cole suggested. 

Again a queer little laugh drifted out on the 
wind. Cole suddenly sat erect, gazing hard at the 
shadowy figure beside him. A shaft of intuition 
had suddenly pierced the fog of contradictions and 
incongruities in his mind. 

“There were two operations, weren’t there?” he 
asked. 

“That’s a very shrewd deduction,” declared the 
doctor, raising his voice above the roar of the wind. 
“There were two. I performed one of them. I 
strongly suspect that Ballinger performed the other. 


250 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


The interesting point about them is that there is an 
official record of the first, but none of the second.” 

For a moment Cole peered sharply ahead. The 
yacht was momentarily out of sight, but he caught 
a glimpse of it again, as they rounded a curve in 
the river bank. 

“Go on,” he said. “You were involved with this 
golden coterie, weren’t you?” 

“For a time. I thought they were engaged in 
strictly scientific and legitimate pursuits. I had 
known Carmody for some time, as a quiet and 
scholarly man. It was through him I became con¬ 
nected with the group. For a time all went 
well. My specialized training helped them solve 
two or three minor technical problems that came 
up in connection with their experiments. 

“Then one evening Carmody telephoned me that 
an accident had occurred at his house on Bleecker 
Street. He asked me to come over at once. When 
I arrived he told me that Malcolm Reeves, who was 
visiting him that evening, had stumbled and fallen 
down the stairs. My examination revealed a com¬ 
pound fracture and convinced me that the pressure 
of the bones against the brain made an immediate 
operation necessary. 

“I had Reeves removed to the nearest hospital. 
It happened to be one of the smaller private ones. 

I was assisted by a nurse. She was a little nervous, 
and I could see that she was new at the game, but 
at first I thought nothing of it, not until I dis¬ 
covered that there was something wrong with the 
anaesthetic. She had blundered in administering it. 

I shudder whenever I think^of the result. Perhaps 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 251 

you can realize something of what it means to have 
a patient awake in the midst of an operation.” 

“Did Reeves see you?” asked Cole suddenly. 

The tiller wabbled for a moment in Latham’s 
hand. “He not only saw me, but he recognized 
me. I shall never forget the expression on his 
face. It was horrible! Well, luckily there were 
no serious consequences. After a while Reeves 
was brought under the anaesthetic again, and the 
operation was successfully finished. In due time he 
was taken to his home. To this day I don’t know 
whether Carmody told me the truth and the injury 
was accidental, or whether some one deliberately in¬ 
flicted it.” 

“Couldn’t you tell from the nature of the 
wound ?” 

“Not with any degree of positiveness. I suspect 
some one tried to murder him that night, but failed. 
Perhaps the assassin lost his nerve. Carmody didn’t 
dare to have Reeves die on his hands, and so he 
sent for me. I do know that Reeves had been 
troublesome toward the last, and that the other 
members of the gang were afraid of him. They 
had ample reason for wishing him out of the way, 
or at least rendered harmless.” 

“And so they performed a second operation that 
destroyed his memory?” guessed Cole. 

“Presumably, but that’s only a surmise on my 
part. Reeves recuperated very rapidly after the 
first operation. One evening, shortly after he be¬ 
came able to move about, he started out on a mys¬ 
terious errand. He never returned, and the police 
found no trace of him About the same time I 


252 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


began to grow suspicious in regard to the activities 
of the gang. I had no tangible proof, but it was 
my strong impression that their aims were not 
strictly legitimate.” 

“Isn’t anybody entitled to make all the gold he 
wants to, if he’s lucky enough to know how?” 

“That’s just the point. Carmody assured me he 
had discovered a process whereby real gold could 
be produced synthetically. It would not only look 
like gold, he told me, but it would assay up to the 
required standard when turned over to the govern¬ 
ment mints. Carmody put it so convincingly that 
at the time I believed him, especially when he showed 
me samples. Later I began to have grave sus¬ 
picions. Certain things led me to doubt that the 
gang had sufficient faith in its products to turn it 
over to the government in the form of bullion. 
In short, I had reason to believe that I was involved 
in a huge counterfeiting project.” 

“What!” exclaimed Cole. The doctor’s revela¬ 
tion went beyond what he had learned from The 
Unknown Seven. 

“To eliminate all risk the gang decided to take a 
short cut,” Latham went on. “Instead of taking the 
gold to Uncle Sam’s mint they set up a mint of 
their own. In a short time the country will be 
flooded with spurious gold coins that are practically 
indistinguishable from the real.” 

“And you have kept silent all this time?” 

“What did I tell you about the fragile quality 
of our veneer of intelligence? I went to Carmody’s 
house and told him of my suspicions. The old fox 
said nothing for a time, but merely smiled that 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 253 

freezing smile of his. Then he took me to a small 
room on the second floor. There sat Reeves, a 
gibbering maniac. Carmody bluntly accused me of 
having performed the operation that deprived him 
of his reason and smoothly suggested that it might 
be well for me to keep my suspicions to myself. 

Carmody went on talking, mentioning among 
other things that it was on record that I had per¬ 
formed an operation on Reeves’ skull. Call me a 
simpleton if you like, but the professor’s words 
sank in. I guessed that a second operation had 
been performed under cover of the original one, 
but I had no means of proving it. I could see 
nothing but ruin and disaster ahead. The only 
one who had witnessed my operation was the nurse, 
and I could expect no help from her. I argued and 
argued with myself, but, in the end, I decided to 
say nothing, at least for a time. Sooner or later I 
suppose I should have spoken, but just then I played 
the coward’s part. I was very neatly caught. In 
what was left of Reeves’ mind was a picture of 
myself, as he had seen me when he woke up in 
the midst of the operation. Occasionally, when the 
recollection came back to him, he would shriek my 
name. The second operation, on the other hand, 
had been performed under circumstances so deftly 
arranged that they had left no impression whatever. 
There, my friend, you have the whole story. Sounds 
like a travesty, eh? I shan’t feel at all hurt 
if you refuse to believe me.” 

Cole had no reason to doubt him. What Latham 
had told him coincided at various points of contact 
with what he had learned at the headquarters of The 


2 54 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Unknown Seven. He could piece out the rest. 
Agents of The Unknown Seven had kidnaped 
Reeves from the Carmody residence and taken him 
to headquarters. There he had been placed under 
Doctor Ballinger’s care, and Ballinger had gone 
through with the pretense of trying to restore 
Reeves’ mental functions. Only one contradiction 
remained. Since Reeves was in the hands of a 
physician who was friendly to the gang and could 
be depended upon to destroy any symptoms of 
returning sanity in Reeves, why had it been thought 
necessary to kill him? Ballinger himself evidently 
shrank from such a coarse crime as murder. He 
must have had several chances to kill Reeves by 
safe and subtle means, and yet the hunchback had 
been commissioned to do the crime. Why had 
Reeves been killed? 

For a while the answer to that question eluded 
Cole. Then he recalled something Carlin had told 
him. After Reeves had been under Ballinger’s care 
for a time, without showing any signs of improve¬ 
ment, it had been suggested that he should be re¬ 
moved to a hospital and a consulting physician 
called in. Evidently Ballinger had seen a danger 
to himself in that suggestion, and so the murder 
had been decided upon. 

“I have no reason to doubt you,” Cole said. “I 
don’t know but what I would have acted pretty much 
the same if I had been in your place. I think, 
though, that you have done a lot of needless worry¬ 
ing. Ballinger is not at all confident of being able 
to fasten the second operation on you.” 

“How is that?” asked Latham quickly. 


255 


THE VENEER OF INTELLIGENCE 

I cant tell you, but I have every reason to 
believe that Ballinger is afrad of what an autopsy 
on the body might show. Not being a scientific 
man I can t grasp the details. All I know is that 
Latham is so anxious to prevent an autopsy that 
he is having the body spirited away.” 

Latham’s hand left the tiller, and the boat 
lurched dangerously. In a moment he had regained 
control of it. 

“Unless I am a very poor guesser,” Cole went on, 
“the body is on the yacht ahead of us. They are 
taking it to a place where it can be safely destroyed. 
It’s hard to do such things in the city.” 

Latham stared at him speechlessly through the 
dusk. The wind had increased, and the waves were 
swishing and churning against the bow of the little 
craft. 

It may be Ballinger is suffering from an uneasy 
conscience,” the doctor murmured. ‘That’s one 
of the things that happen when the veneer of in¬ 
telligence cracks. Conscience makes a man do queer 
things. However, if your guess is right-” 

He stopped short, at the same time peering sharply 
ahead. Suddenly his hand went out, and the chug¬ 
ging of the motor ceased. 

“The chase is over,” he said. 

Cole followed his glance. The yacht, with sails 
lowered, was turning into a small inlet. 

“And here is where the excitement begins,” he 
declared. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 

W HILE Doctor Latham fastened the boat. Cole’s 
eyes swept the black masses of wooded hills 
that slanted upward at a sharp angle from the river 
bank. At the apex of the tallest peak a light 
gleamed, but otherwise there was no sign of human 
habitation on this side of the river. The lights of 
a town twinkled across the foaming welter of waves, 
and they helped Cole to fix their location. They 
were in one of the wildest and most rugged sections 
of Dutchess County. The peak, on which the solitary 
light shone, had once been a popular pleasure resort, 
and in the old days a cable railway had carried 
week-end excursionists to the top. Of late, what 
with the dry era and the public’s fickle fancy, the 
place had lost its popularity, and the buildings on the 
peak were falling into decay. The ruggedly ro¬ 
mantic setting seemed an ideal one for the kind 
of adventure Cole anticipated. 

With the doctor at his heels, he moved cautiously 
toward the point where the yacht had anchored a 
short distance ahead. Of a sudden they stopped. 
The crack of a pistol rose sharply above the whine 
of the wind. 

“Only a signal, I think,” said Cole, after waiting 
tensely for a few moments. 

They advanced a little farther, then stopped on a 
flight elevation from which they had an unob- 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 257 

structed view of the yacht. In the lights from 
the craft they saw a number of men going ashore, 
and several of them were carrying a bulky object. 
Their faces were not recognizable at that distance, 
but Cole thought there were about a dozen in all. 

“We may have quite a lively tussle/’ he observed 
in an undertone. “I could have brought a few 
helpers along, but safety doesn’t always lie in num¬ 
bers.” 

I like this better, said Latham. f< If there were 
more of us there might not be enough thrills to go 
around. Where are we?” 

That place, up there in the clouds, where you 
see the light, is called Dutchess Point. I believe 
there is a car coming down. That’s probably what 
the pistol shot meant.” 

A light was treading its way in a zigzagging 
course down the side of the hill. Soon were heard 
the chugging of motors and the metallic snarl of 
brakes. The two men waited until the car reached 
the group that had come off the yacht. As soon as 
the loaded vehicle started to retread its path up 
the hill they followed. It proved a hard climb, and 
they reached the top a full half hour behind the car. 

The apex was composed mostly of huge flat rock, 
with here and there a few scrawny trees. There 
were half a dozen buildings scattered about, and in 
the largest one several lights had appeared by the 
time the two climbers reached the top. They stood 
in a dark spot behind a little cluster of starving 
hemlocks. No one was in sight, but the sound of 
voices drifted out to them through the open windows 
of the large building. 


258 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

“Hear that noise ?” whispered Latham. “What 
do you suppose it is?” 

Cole listened. A gentle, rhythmic whirring was 
heard. He looked down at his feet, for it seemed 
to come from underground. 

“Machinery,” he said, and suddenly he remem¬ 
bered the words spoken by Malcolm Reeves in his 
insane glee: “Yellow—pretty yellow.” The whirring 
noise that he heard, as he stood there under the 
hemlocks, brought them back to his mind. 

“Look!” said Latham suddenly. 

Cole, following his pointing finger, glanced up¬ 
ward. The large building, he now noticed, was 
equipped with a high tower, and near its top a 
light had appeared in the last few moments. At 
the lighted window a face was dimly discernible. 
Cole strained his eyes at the point of illumination, 
and suddenly he gripped his companion’s arm. 

“It’s a woman, Latham!” 

The doctor gasped. “It must be Miss Brownell, 
then!” 

The two men continued staring upward. Their 
imaginations touched up the dim and remote picture 
which they saw with their eyes. The face was 
very white, thought Cole, and the eyes held a look of 
terror. She was looking downward; their glances 
met somewhere in mid-air, and yet she appeared 
not to see the two watchers below. 

“What shall we do?” asked Latham. 

“You stay here,” said Cole. “I’m going to look 
around a bit.” 

He slipped away among the trees, avoiding the 
open space in front of the building. The tower 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 259 

was in the rear, overlooking the steep incline, and 
he moved in that direction. He looked up a sheer 
wall to where the light shone. To climb up there 
was out of the question, for the blank wall offered 
no hold for either hands or feet. He moved cau¬ 
tiously toward the front entrance. For a moment 
he listened outside the sagging door, then boldly 
pushed it open and entered. 

He was in a dark corridor. Under one of the 
doors at the side was a thin wedge of light. A 
number of voices issued from it; evidently a con¬ 
ference of some kind was in progress. Knowing 
that the stairway leading to the tower must be in 
that direction, Cole tiptoed farther down the hall. 
A bold and reckless move, he had learned from 
experience, was often more effective than a thought- 
out plan. Before he could do anything else Miss 
Brownell must be rescued. His hands were tied, as 
long as she was held as a hostage by the gang. 
Once she was out of harm’s way he could proceed 
against them as ruthlessly as he pleased. 

He came to the end of the hall, and there he 
brought up against another door. He opened it, al¬ 
most sure that it must lead to the stairs, but instead 
he found himself in a large, square room. A small 
electric bulb glowed in the ceiling, and in its light 
he caught a glimpse of a forbidding figure guarding 
a door at the farther side. The sentinel was thick¬ 
set and broad-shouldered. His bushy brows seemed 
top-heavy for his very small eyes which glared out 
at Cole in a startled way. 

“Stop right where you are!” he commanded, at 
the same instant reaching for his hip pocket. As 


26 o 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


his fingers closed around the handle of an auto¬ 
matic, Cole lunged forward. His fist landed with 
explosive force in the man’s face, and he fell to the 
ground without a sound. 

“Sorry, old top, but it had to be done,” Cole 
told the insensible man, as he opened the door 
which the fellow had been guarding. Before him 
was a winding stairway that seemed to extend up¬ 
ward interminably. Very quickly Cole lifted the 
man through the door and stretched him out along 
the steps, then drew the door to. 

He hurried up the stairs. The long ascent would 
have exhausted a weaker man, but Cole’s lungs and 
muscles were in the pink of condition. At length, 
panting a little, he reached the top. Before him 
was a door. He rapped, and footfalls crossed the 
floor within. 

“Who’s there ?” demanded a voice which he 
recognized as Miss Brownell’s. It sounded a bit 
lofty, pathetically so, he thought. 

“Cole,” he replied. 

“Oh!” The exclamation was more a sigh of re¬ 
lief. “But I can’t let you in. The door is locked, 
and I have no key.” 

“I might have known it,” muttered Cole. The 
space between the door and the wall of the tower 
was very narrow. Bracing his back against the wall 
he placed his feet on the door and shoved steadily. 
It was of stout material, but at length it gave with 
an abruptness that precipitated him to the floor. 
Quickly he picked himself up. 

The girl rushed toward him. There was an 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW, 261 

excited flush which surmounted the white of her 
face. “I am so glad-” she began. 

“You were foolish/* Cole sternly interrupted. 

You shouldn’t have started after Ballinger alone. 
That’s no job for a woman. What happened?” 

“Ballinger was too clever for me/’ she confessed. 

The moment I thought I had him I was shoved 

into a car, blindfolded, and- Well, that’s about 

all I know. When I opened my eyes the next morn¬ 
ing I found myself here.” 

“How have they treated you?” 

“Oh, very well, suspiciously well. I have been 
told that prisoners who are doomed to die always 
get the best of everything. Mr. Cole, you have 
thrown <a full-sized scare into the gang. I heard 
a couple of the men talking outside my door this 
morning. I suppose they felt sure I would never 
have a chance to repeat what I heard. They 
said-” 

“Not so loud!” admonished Cole. 

“I gathered from what they said,” she went on in 
a whisper, “that the leaders of the gang are badly 
frightened. They seem to think you are hot on 
their trail.” 

“They’re mistaken,” declared Cole modestly. “I’ve 
barely got started as yet.” 

“Well, all the same they are very much worried. 
Their plan, as one of the men put it, is to make 
a swift clean-up and a quick get-away. Some one, 
whom they called ‘the big chief/ was to come out 
here to-night.” 

“About a dozen men arrived a little while ago,” 





262 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Cole informed her. “No doubt the chief was among 
them. Do you know who he is?” 

“No. He wasn’t referred to by name in the 
conversation which I overheard. I am sure, though, 
that Doctor Latham isn’t the man. In fact I never 
really thought so. More of my woman’s intuition, 
I suppose.” 

“What else did the men say?” he asked in a 
whisper 

“They said there is about half a billion dollars’ 
worth of gold ready to be minted. I didn’t quite 
understand what they meant by that. There is a 
complete set of machinery hidden somewhere about 
the place, and it is running at full capacity.” 

“I should think the comings and goings of the 
gang would excite the curiosity of the townspeople 
across the river.” 

“Oh, they’ve managed that part very cleverly 
by circulating a report to the effect that the build¬ 
ings are being renovated and that Dutchess Point 
is to be reopened as a pleasure resort next spring. 
In fact, they have put a crew of carpenters, road- 
makers and gardeners to work on the place. Just 
for a blind, of course. It seems they haven’t neg¬ 
lected a single precaution. Yet they seem to 
be worried over something.” 

“Excellent! When your enemy is worried, you 
have an advantage over him. What seems to be 
the trouble ?” 

“I couldn’t quite make out. All I heard was a 
few scattered remarks. It appears they are hav- 
ing some difficulty with the gold-making process. 
There seems to be a minor flaw in the product, 


THE FACE AT THE WINDOW 263, 

due to the absence of something which they refer 
as the seventh ingredient. I haven’t the least idea 
what is is, but it seems to be related to the experi¬ 
mental work Doctor Latham conducted before he 
severed his connection with the gang. They appear 
to think that he could solve their difficulty if he 
was so inclined.” 

“By supplying the formula for the seventh in¬ 
gredient?” 

Something like that. Anyway, that was the 
impression I received. Evidently the missing in¬ 
gredient isn't of very great importance, but they 
want to make the product as perfect as possible.” 

“For the sake of safety in minting and circulating 
it, I suppose, said Cole thoughtfully. “Apparently 
Latham left them at an inopportune time from their 
point of view. Doubtless they would exert any 
manner of pressure on him in order to make him 
divulge the secret of this socalled seventh in¬ 
gredient.” 

“I doubt if they would succeed.” 

“So do I,” said Cole, looking curiously at the 
girl. “Latham is a fighter clean through, and he is 
a match for them. By the way, he came out with 
me this evening.” 

She caught her breath and fixed her wide, troubled 
eyes on his face. 

“Doctor Latham here?” she murmured. “Did he 
volunteer to come with you?” 

“I invited him to come, and he jumped at the 
invitation. I foresaw that he would prove useful, 
and he was doubly anxious to come when I hinted 
that our expedition to-night might reveal your 


264 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


whereabouts. Your disappearance came as a great 
shock to him.” 

“Then you no longer think he is implicated with 
these scoundrels?” 

“No, I don’t. He was with them until he saw 
that their aims were crooked, and then he got out 
as best he could. Latham has acted foolishly, but 
that’s all. The scientific side of these experiments 
appealed to the scholar in him. I don’t think he 
was ever moved by greed. No, Latham wasn’t to 
be blamed. Whenever a man is in love he is apt 
to make a fool of himself.” 

She lowered her eyes. “Doctor Latham is a 

good man,” she said tensely. “I wish I could-” 

A gentle sigh escaped her. 

“I understand,” murmured Cole. “Life is a bit 
of a tangle, isn’t it? Even the logical mind of 
a scholar isn’t able to steer clear of the meshes 
when a charming woman is involved. One never 
knows-” 

He paused, threw a quick glance at the door, 
then looked at Miss Brownell, noting the tensity 
that had suddenly crept into her face. In an in¬ 
stant his automatic was in his hand, and he tiptoed 
softly to the door. Holding it open a crack, he 
heard unmistakably the sounds of footsteps coming 
up the stairs. 

“Stand back!” he ordered curtly. “Some one’s 
coming!” 

But the girl, smiling faintly, signified with a shrug 
that she intended to remain where she was. 


CHAPTER XXII 

A DUEL OF WITS 


/^OLE opened the door a trifle wider. The foot¬ 
falls, furtive and hesitant, sounded as if sev¬ 
eral men were coming up the protesting stairs. He 
fancied there were many others below who were 
ready to jump into the fight if he should be suc¬ 
cessful in disposing of the ones now approaching. 
His mind worked with lightning speed as he turned 
away from the door. 

The room, hexagonal in shape, with a tall win¬ 
dow at each angle, was lighted from a tarnished 
brass fixture at one side. While watching the light 
from the outside, Cole had noticed that from the 
windows to the ground was a sheer drop of one 
hundred and fifty feet, so escape in that direction 
was impossible. The walls, covered with once gaudy 
paper that was now faded and torn, seemed to offer 
no loophole. The unswept floor was cluttered with 
pieces of dilapidated furniture of a kind which sug¬ 
gested that the room had once served as a rendez¬ 
vous for gamblers. The single door was the only 
exit, and flight in that direction was cut off by the 
men now creeping up the stairs. As nearly as 
Cole could determine from the sounds, they were 
as yet only halfway up. For an instant his 
thoughts flew to Doctor Latham, and he wondered 
if the physician was still waiting for him outside. 

He stepped quickly toward the girl. “Talk,” 
he whispered, “talk about anything.” 


266 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


She took her cue with at comprehending nod, and 
Cole hastened back to the door. 

“But I don’t know, so how can I tell you?” she 
asked in a tone whose naturalness instantly won his 
approval. He was quick to follow up her lead. 

“You have no idea who the leader of these cut¬ 
throats is?” he asked in a slightly nettled tone. 

“None whatever.” 

He listened for a moment. The footsteps were 
coming gradually closer. When he spoke again, he 
threw his voice so that it sounded as if coming 
from the center of the room, a ventriloquial trick 
he had practiced when a boy and often found 
useful. 

“You have been here a good many hours,” he 
pointed out. “I thought you might have overheard 
something that gave you a clew.” 

“You forget that I have been locked up in this 
room all the time.” 

“That’s so,” Cole admitted, tightening his grip 
on his automatic. The footfalls on the stairs had 
ceased. Evidently the persons who were approach-, 
ing had stopped to listen to the conversation. “You 
haven’t seen any one who looks as if he might 
be the boss of the outfit?” 

“No one,” she declared convincingly. “So far I 
have come in contact only with underlings. The 
man higher up, whoever he is, has remained in the 
background. Of course, I could make a guess.” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

“Doctor Latham.” 

Cole smiled. It was an excellent bit of strategy, 
and he was confident that the men below had heard. 


A DUEL OF WITS 


267 

Her cleverly simulated suspicion in regard to the 
physician was well calculated to deceive them in 
regard to the extent and accuracy of her infor¬ 
mation. 

“You may be right,” he said thoughtfully just 
as the footsteps began to move upward again, and 
once more his voice sounded as if coming from 
the interior of the room. “I’ve had my eyes on 
the doctor myself. He is a sly bird, but I’m not 
sure that his cranium is the adequate size for a 
job of this kind. However he will bear watching. 
But we’re wasting time. The first thing to do is 
to get you safely out of this nest of crooks. I 
think the way is clear, but we must-” 

“You’re a little bit slow,” said a voice, and 
the door came open, admitting a stocky individual 
with a leveled automatic. ^ He came straight for¬ 
ward, stopping bewilderedly as he saw only the 
girl, and in that instant Cole reached out behind 
him, seized him firmly by the neck and, swinging 
him backward with a powerful sweep, slammed his 
head against the wall. With a fragmentary cry the 
man went lurching to the floor, and in almost the 
same instant Cole whirled round and struck his 
companion a vigorous blow with the butt of his 
pistol. The fellow dropped like a dead-weight. 

“Two of them!” exclaimed Cole, feeling quite 
elated at the success of his ruse. “Where’s the 
third ?” 

Miss Brownell, breathing rapidly, looked hard at 
the door. Cole glanced out, but there was neither 
sign nor sound of movement on the stairs. 

“I thought there were several of them,” he mut- 



268 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


tered. “Must have been mistaken. Sounds are 
deceptive, you know. This may come in handy/’ 

He stooped, picked up the weapon dropped by his 
second adversary, and handed it to Miss Brownell. 
With an expert air she examined the mechanism, 
making sure it was loaded. 

“You worked the trick to the queen’s taste, Miss 
Brownell,” he declared approvingly. “It was a 
good piece of work.” 

“But you did it all.” 

“Far from it! I couldn’t have thrown them off 
their guard if you hadn’t helped. Do you know,” 
peering at her curiously, “I was afraid you would 
faint, or something like that.” 

She laughed. “You haven’t a very high opinion 
of our sex, Mr. Cole.” 

“It is rising every moment. We must get away 
before these rascals come to. Feel strong enough 
for a walk?” 

“Just try me! Your exhibition of fisticuffs was 
so stimulating that I am ready for anything.” 

Then let’s start. Latham must be wondering 
what has become of me.” With a glance at his 
fallen foes, Cole started down the stairs, the girl 
following. He did not wish to alarm her by 
voicing his misgivings, but he was far from certain 
that they would reach the bottom without an inter¬ 
ruption. Doubtless the others must be aware by 
this time that something was amiss. The burly 
sentinel he had knocked down at the foot of the 
stairs had probably either recovered consciousness 
or been found by his accomplices. In either event, 
their path was beset by perils. 


A DUEL OF WITS 


269 

Pistol in one hand, Cole proceeded cautiously down 
the stairs. They were dark, and the constant wind¬ 
ing made progress difficult. He had discovered that 
Miss Brownell was brave and resourceful, but he 
would breathe more easily when he had got her out 
of harm’s way. 

They reached another turn, and suddenly the girl 
stumbled and lurched violently against him. 

“Ouch!” she moaned, trying to repress an ex¬ 
clamation of pain. “My ankle! I think I 
twisted it.” 

Cole cursed softly as he gathered her in his arms. 
Her figure was writhing in the throes of physical 
distress. 

“As I told you once before,” she complained 
mockingly, trying to make light of the injury, 
“you are not at all gallant. Almost any other man 
would have welcomed the chance.” 

Cole muttered something under his breath. A 
dislocated ankle complicated a situation that was al¬ 
ready critical enough, but the girl’s superb behavior 
stirred him to unwilling admiration. His fears 
were all for her, not for himself. He was almost 
at the foot of the stairs now. If he could only 
get her safely out of the building and place her 
in Doctor Latham’s care. If only- 

Abruptly he stopped before a door. With his 
burden in his arms he had reached the foot of the 
stairs. For a moment he stopped and listened, but 
all seemed quiet on the other side. An involuntary 
moan of pain told that Miss Brownell was suffer¬ 
ing intensely. Balancing her on his shoulder he 
reached out a hand and pushed the door open. 



270 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Instantly he felt a premonition that something 
was wrong. The sentry, whom he had left un¬ 
conscious at the door before ascending to the tower, 
was no longer there. He started to draw back, 
but it was too late. A shadow leaped swiftly across 
the path of light in front of the open door. A hand 
clutching a bludgeon was raised to strike. Cole, 
with the girl on his shoulder, could not dodge the 
blow. It caught him squarely on the jaw, and the 
terrific impact sent him reeling against the stairs. 
The girl slipped away from him, and in his last con¬ 
scious moment he tried to ease her fall. 

“I take it all back,” she whispered in his ear, 
her bantering tone edged with pain and anguish. 
“You—you are gallant, Mr. Cole.” 

But Cole heard nothing. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

THE SEVENTH INGREDIENT 

YY7HEN, some thirty or forty minutes later, Cole 
W opened his eyes and fingered his swollen jaw, 
he found himself sprawling in a chair in a strange 
room. In front of him stood Doctor Latham, a 
humorously sympathetic look on his face. 

The room, with its faded tawdriness and crum¬ 
bling decorations, looked as if it had once been a 
private dining room. The scratched woodwork and 
the liquid stains on the wall paper were reminiscent 
of hilarious times. Cole noticed that the two win¬ 
dows were shuttered on the outside. 

‘‘How do you feel?” inquired the physician. 

“As if I was all jaw,” said Cole, opening his 
eyes a little wider and gazing stupidly at the doctor. 
It took him several minutes to recall that he was 
still in the big house on Dutchess Point. A rhyth¬ 
mic vibration that seemed to come from beneath 
the floor, accompanied by the remote humming of 
machinery, brought him back to the present. 

“Why are you here?” he demanded of the physi¬ 
cian. “Didn’t I tell you to stay outside?” 

“So you did, and it was excellent advice, my 
friend. I wish now I had heeded it. But I grew 
impatient and proceeded to find out what had be¬ 
come of you. All I got for my pains was an ungen¬ 
tle tap in the region of the occipital bone.” 

With a serio-comic expression the doctor caressed 


272 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

the back of his head. His clothing was rumpled 
and looked as if he had been dragged over a dusty 
floor. 

Again Cole stroked his jaw. “Where is Miss 
Brownell ?” he suddenly asked. 

Latham pointed across the room where, white¬ 
faced but smiling, the girl sat in a chair. 

“Eve justified my existence at last/’ he remarked. 
“I managed to straighten out Miss Brownell’s ankle. 
Didn’t have my kit with me, and I fear I dealt 
rather roughly with her. How about it, Miss 
Brownell ?” 

“I hardly felt it,” she assured him. “For a big 
man, you are gentleness itself.” 

The physician looked long into her smiling face, 
and when he turned away there was a sad, wistful 
expression in his eyes. Miss Brownell caught a 
fleeting glimpse of it, and her face sobered instantly. 

“Cheerful place!” murmured Latham, glancing 
up at the dilapidated ceiling. “Anyway, we ought 
to be thankful that the three of us are together. 
Wonder what the amiable ruffians plan to do next. 
What happened to you after you left me, Cole?” 

It took Cole some little time to remember, but at 
length he gave the doctor a brief summary of the 
episode in the tower, ending with the unexpected 
attack that had left him with a swollen jaw. The 
doctor seemed amused. 

“Laid them both out, eh?” he said with a chuckle. 
“Good work, Cole. I believe you could manage a 
massacre all by yourself if you had the chance.” 

“The chance may come sooner than we think,” 
said Cole dryly, with a glance at the door. “Miss 


THE SEVENTH INGREDIENT 273 

Brownell told me some of the things she has learned 
during her term of imprisonment here. It seems 
we have one advantage, doctor.” 

“What’s that?” 

“The seventh ingredient.” 

A thin smile parted the physician’s lips. “That’s 
so. I’d forgotten about that. It’s a minor detail 
I worked out independently. Professor Carmody 
made several attempts to make me reveal the secret 
of it, but I refused. You see, by that time I had 
discovered that the scheme was crooked, and I 
would have nothing more to do with the gang. 
However, the seventh ingredient, as they call it, 
isn’t of great importance. Its value is almost nil.” 

“But they seem to think otherwise.” 

“They are mistaken, and naturally so. I was 
mistaken myself for a while. I exaggerated the 
importance of the so-called seventh ingredient. Aft¬ 
erward, when I knew better, I saw no reason why 
I should put them right.” 

Glad you didn’t, Latham. As long as they are 
laboring under a misapprehension, we have an ad¬ 
vantage over them.” 

“How is that ?” 

“They think you have something that they want. 
The fact that they are mistaken makes no differ¬ 
ence. As matters stand at present, you- are in a 
position to bargain with them.” 

“Bargain over what?” 

“Oh, several things.” Cole stepped a little closer 
to him and spoke in an undertone. “Miss Brown- 
elks safety, for instance.” 

Latham’s brows went up. “Of course!” he mur- 


274 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


mured. “I’m a bit dull to-night. Glad you have 
your thinking cap on, Cole. The amiable ruffians 
will be given to understand that I refuse to dis¬ 
cuss the seventh ingredient until Miss Brownell is 
at a safe distance. After that nothing will mat¬ 
ter. Smoke ?” 

Cole helped himself to a cigarette from the physi¬ 
cian’s case, slanting a quick glance in the girl’s direc¬ 
tion as he lighted it. She looked both puzzled and 
amused. 

“Were you saying something I was not supposed 
to hear?” she inquired. 

The question remained unanswered, for just then 
the door opened, and the gaunt, frock-coated figure 
of Professor Carmody strutted into the room. In 
his hand was an automatic, which he managed very 
cautiously, and his shrunken face was all smiles. 

“Hello, Cole,” he chirped gleefully. “Good eve¬ 
ning, Miss Brownell. How are you, doctor? Glad 
to see you all here.” He chuckled wheezily and 
rubbed his bony hands with their talonlike fingers. 
“Too bad you didn’t follow my advice the other 
day, Latham. You would have escaped a lot of 
trouble if you had been sensible.” 

“Go to blazes,” said the doctor contemptuously, 
advancing a step toward Carmody. 

The pistol came upward in the professor’s hand. 
“Don’t move,” he warned. “And it won’t do either 
of you any good to reach for your weapons. They 
were removed while you were—ahem—incapaci¬ 
tated. We object to rowdyism in this place. Our 
leader is a peaceful man and does not like disturb¬ 
ances. Cole, you have caused us a lot of embar- 


THE SEVENTH INGREDIENT 


275 


rassment, and see what it has led you to. I be¬ 
lieve our last meeting took place in room 2512, the 
Security Building/' 

Cole made a wry face as he recalled how the 
professor had tricked him. “You were a bit too 
clever for me that time, Carmody,” he admitted. 

The professor gave a cackling, complacent laugh. 
“Even an old man like me must have his little 
jokes," he remarked, still adhering to his ludicrous 
habit of raising and dropping his voice on almost 
every other word. “I'll wager you don’t know even 
now what my object was. Eh, Cole?" 

Cole measured him with a cool glance. “I think 
I do," he declared quietly. “The body of Reeves 
was in the safe. Members of your illustrious gang 
had removed it from its former place and put it 
there. One of my men learned what the safe con¬ 
tained, and he paid with his life for his discovery. 
Later you dropped in to see that everything was 
in readiness to sneak the safe and its contents out 
of town." 

“You are a very shrewd guesser, Mr. Cole. It 
is a matter of keen regret to me that one of such 
fine intellect must be on the wrong side of this situa¬ 
tion. As for the body of Reeves, it will very soon 
be reduced to a handful of fine dust. The proc¬ 
ess will be scientific in every respect. Nothing 
coarse or gruesome, you understand. We couldn’t 
have disposed of it satisfactorily in the city. It 
would have been too dangerous. But that isn’t what 
I came in here to talk about. Doctor Latham, you 
were once a friend of mine, and in the beginning 
of this enterprise you gave us several valuable hints. 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


276 

For the last time I ask you to be reasonable. It 
is your last chance.” 

“And if I refuse?” 

The professor screwed his face into a melancholy 
expression. “In that event you, too, will soon be 
only a handful of dust.” 

“Even so I will have the advantage over you, 
professor. When your end comes there won’t be 
enough dust to make a thimbleful. I hope I make 
my meaning clear?” 

“You will not reconsider your decision?” 

“No!” declared Latham explosively. 

“Not even in order to save the life of this charm¬ 
ing young lady?” Carmody turned his beatifically 
smiling face toward Miss Brownell. 

A pallor crept up under the doctor’s eyes. He 
stared with a horrified expression at the professor. 

“You mean that-” 

“Precisely, my dear doctor. The young lady is 
dangerous to us. Under the circumstances the law 
of self-preservation demands that she be rendered 
harmless, and the only effective way of doing that 
is to remove her from this sad world. However, 
in appreciation of the services you once rendered 
us, she shall be spared if you will reconsider your 
decision.” 

The doctor appeared to hesitate. His eyes, full 
of tenderness, were fixed on Miss Brownell. Cole 
could see that he pretended to be wavering. Then 
the girl spoke. 

“Doctor Latham has decided,” she declared in 
a clear, calm voice. “He is not the type of man 
who bargains with blackguards. I wouldn’t permit 


THE SEVENTH INGREDIENT 277 

it, even if he were so inclined. Go away!” she 
added, turning her eyes, full of cold contempt, on 
the professor. 

Carmody winced beneath her scornful gaze. For 
a moment he plucked nervously at the lapel of his 
coat. Then, with a soft chuckle that sounded dia¬ 
bolical to the other three in the room, he turned to 
the doctor. 

“The young lady had spoken,” he remarked. 
“I'm afraid her pretty head is full of silly notions. 
Youth is always like that. You are older and wiser, 
Latham. What do you say?” 

The doctor regarded him calculatingly. “Just 
what do you want, Carmody?” 

“Ah, that’s better! Getting down to terms, eh? 
I see I was not mistaken in relying on your com¬ 
mon sense. You know what I want, doctor. It 
is something we have discussed before. Miss 
Brownell and Mr. Cole will not understand what 
I mean, but it has something to do with the sev¬ 
enth ingredient.” 

Latham nodded. “Thought so. Very curious on 
that point, aren’t you, professor? I used all my 
spare time during three or four months working 
out that interesting angle. It was quite fascinat¬ 
ing, I assure you. Do you know, professor, I some¬ 
times wonder if the late lamented Doctor Price was 
not about two hundred years ahead of his time? 
From the very beginning of our experiments I sus¬ 
pected that Doctor Price’s secret—the secret which 
he never divulged—was a sort of electronic reac¬ 
tion applied to chemical compounds. When I 


278 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


learned how to use that reaction in the process we 
had under way, my problem was solved.” 

Carmody regarded him narrowly. ‘‘The electron 
[wasn’t known in Doctor Price’s day.” 

“And that’s why I say he was about two cen¬ 
turies ahead of his time. At any rate, I am satis¬ 
fied he stumbled upon something which closely re¬ 
sembles our modern discoveries. Nothing else ex¬ 
plains the marvelous achievement that he took with 
him to his grave.” 

“And you claim to have resurrected his discov- 
very, Latham?” 

“I am not in the habit of making claims,” said 
the doctor modestly, with an air of mysteriousness 
that was well calculated to impress Carmody. “I 
prefer to let facts speak for themselves.” 

Carmody pondered, his sharp, greedy little eyes 
wandering from one face in the group to another. 

“You made memoranda of your experiments, of 
course ?” 

“Naturally.” 

“Where are your notes?” , 

Latham smiled blandly. “In two places. Here,” 
tapping his head, “I carry the whole process. My 
written memoranda are in a safe place, a place 
which I shan’t divulge to you until you have given 
us reasonable guarantees in regard to our safety.” 

Professor Carmody scowled. “You are hardly in 
a position to dictate terms.” 

“Do as you like,” said Latham with a shrug. “If 
you reject my conditions, I shall follow Doctor 
Price s example and take my little secret with me 
to my grave.” 


THE SEVENTH INGREDIENT 


279 


“And what about Miss Brownell ?” 

The physician winced, but before he could answer 
the girl spoke for herself. 

“Don’t mind me,” she said spiritedly. “Doctor 
Latham, why don’t you tell the professor that he 
is beneath contempt?” 

Carmody turned his head and regarded her with 
a look of lofty disdain. “Haughty little devil!” he 
muttered under his breath, then faced the physician 
again. “Well, Latham, what would you call rea¬ 
sonable guarantees?” 

“Cole and myself will remain here for the pres¬ 
ent. As far as Miss Brownell is concerned, I’ll be 
satisfied when she telephones me from her home in 
town that she has arrived there safely. Does that 
strike you as reasonable, Cole?” 

“Perfectly.” 

Carmody scratched his jaw perplexedly. “It is 
a very difficult situation. I shall refer it to the 
leader of our organization.” 

With that he backed cautiously toward the door, 
his automatic gripped tightly in his thin, gnarled 
hand. In a moment the door closed behind him, 
then came the sound of a heavy bolt turning in the 
lock, and the two men and the girl were alone. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


CORNERED 


/^OLE turned to the window and verified his im- 
^ pression that the shutters were strong enough to 
bar their exit in that direction. For a few moments 
he stood there, listening to the remote booming of the 
waves, the fretful whine of the wind, the creaking 
and groaning of timbers in the old house. With 
these sounds there mingled another, a faint but 
ecstatic humming and whirring that seemed to come 
from some subterranean crypt. 

“Gold!” it seemed to say with a dull, sinister 
intonation. “Gold!” 


Cole shrugged and moved away. Next he hurled 
himself against the door, but its solid resistance told 
him the effort was useless. The doctor stood in the 
middle of the room, pulling thoughtfully at his 
black beard and now and then sending Miss Brown¬ 
ell a glance out of his strange, flashing eyes. 

“You handled the professor superbly,” Cole told 
him. “He is guessing now, and when a man is 
guessing he is at a distinct disadvantage.” 

The doctor smiled musingly. “But don’t build 
too high hopes on his state of mind,” he cautioned. 
“It is best not to underrate the enemy’s resources.” 

“What about that choice morsel you handed him 
in regard to an electronic reaction?” Cole wanted 
to know. “Anything in it?” 

Absolutely nothing. But it sounded impressive 
enough to give the professor something to worry 


CORNERED 


281 


about. As for Doctor Price, he wouldn’t have rec¬ 
ognized an electron if he had seen one with the 
naked eye. I hardly expected Carmody to swallow 
it, but he did. When you tell a fib, it is always 
best to tell the kind that the other fellow is pre¬ 
pared to believe.” 

Cole laughed; there was something irresistible 
about the doctor’s stoicism. “I hope,” he fervently 
declared, “that the swallowing of that electron will 
give the professor a severe attack of cramps. What 
do you propose to do next, Latham?” 

“Heroics were never in my line,” the doctor as¬ 
serted in a tone that was meant to be cynical. 
“When one is caught, the thing to do is to yield 
as gracefully as possible. I suggest we surrender 
to the enemy. Why stand on pride when one is 
headed for a tumble?” 

“In other words, you mean to build up a mag¬ 
nificent bluff on the electron Carmody swallowed?” 

“Precisely,” said Latham, casting a sidelong 
glance at Miss Brownell. 

The girl got up, limped uncertainly across the 
floor, and placed a hand on the physician’s arm. 

“You are a good man, Doctor Latham,” she mur¬ 
mured. “You are quite transparent, however. You 
intend to keep up this bluff, as you call it, until 
I am at a safe distance. You fail to consider what 
is going to happen to you and Mr. Cole when they 
discover you have tricked them.” 

“Oh, we will cross that bridge when we come to 
it,” said Latham with an air of profound assurance. 

“You aren’t candid with me,” the girl protested. 
“You know they will kill you both as soon as they 


282 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


realize they have been imposed upon. You intend 
to sacrifice yourself for my sake. I won’t have it!” 

“Now, Miss Brownell-” 

“I won’t accept such a sacrifice,” she declared 
vehemently. “That’s absolutely final.” 

Latham gazed at her in an embarrassed way. He 
tried to smile, but it was a pathetic effort. “Youth 
is always that way,” he declared. “Always butting 
its head against stone walls. Don’t you see, Miss 
Brownell, that-” 

“No, I don’t,” she interrupted. “And, so you 
won’t be tempted to give it for my sake, let me 
tell you that I intend to fight this crowd of cow¬ 
ardly ruffians till the end. Even if you should 
surrender, I would not, so your sacrifice would be 
in vain.” 

Latham stroked his beard reflectively. A flippant 
remark was on the tip of his tongue, but he seemed 
unable to utter it. He assisted the girl back to her 
chair. 

Cole had watched them in silence. Something 
stirred gently within him as he witnessed the scene 
between the doctor and the girl. There was a touch 
of the sublime in the physician’s determination to 
sacrifice himself for the object of his hopeless de¬ 
votion. But to Cole it all seemed very futile. He 
doubted strongly that the leader of the gang would 
accept Latham’s terms. Knowing that she had dis¬ 
covered several important things in regard to the 
organization’s activities, they would not be likely 
to let the girl out of their clutches. Their logical 
move would be an effort to obtain by other means 
the secret which they supposed was in Latham’s 



CORNERED 


283 


position. Nevertheless, the little drama enacted be¬ 
fore his eyes touched him deeply. Now he shrugged 
off his hopeless feeling and strode briskly across 
the floor. 

“It isn’t time to sing the funeral hymn just 
yet,” he declared. “There is another fight in us 
still. I propose that we-” 

What he had to propose was not made clear, 
for the door opened, and with his usual stiff and 
dignified gait Professor Carmody walked once more 
into the room. He had dropped his mock affability 
and carried himself with a stern and dignified air. 

“I have talked with the chief,” he announced, 
addressing Doctor Latham. “The arrangement you 
suggested is flatly impossible.” 

“Just as I thought,” muttered Cole under his 
breath. 

“You can see for yourself how unreasonable it 
is,” Carmody went on in an argumentative tone. 
“Miss Brownell is in possession of information 
which, if used against us, might harm us greatly. 
Under the circumstances it would be extreme folly 
on our part to permit her to leave this place for 
the present.” 

“Then what do you propose?” asked the doctor. 

“That you listen to reason. In a few days, a 
week or two at most, our present enterprise will be 
finished, and we shall be in a position where noth¬ 
ing can hurt us. You, Latham, can hasten develop¬ 
ments, if you wish, by giving us the formula you 
have worked out. It isn’t essential, but we prefer 
to make use of it. The sooner you choose to oblige 



284 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


us, the sooner you and your friends will be per¬ 
mitted to depart.” 

The doctor regarded him with a half-humorous, 
half-contemptuous gaze. “Is that all?” 

“By no means. If you decide to accommodate us, 
you shall share in the golden harvest we soon ex¬ 
pect to reap. Think of it, Latham. By complying 
with a simple request you will make yourself enor¬ 
mously wealthy. Never before in the world’s his¬ 
tory was such a magnificent reward offered for a 
comparatively small service. Never since-” 

“You are waxing rhapsodical, professor,” inter¬ 
rupted Latham curtly. “I am always suspicious of a 
man who makes flowery promises. Will you tell 
me in plain words—the plainer the better—what 
will happen if I should reject your magnanimous 
offer?” 

“I do not like to contemplate it,” said Carmody, 
his face full of sadness. “Especially in view of 
Miss Brownell’s connection with the matter. But 
you will not do anything so foolish, Latham. Re¬ 
member that we are powerful enough to get what 
we want, and that we do not hesitate to use ex¬ 
treme measures when necessary. We can bend 
even such a stubborn will as yours. I am waiting 
for your answer. Will you give us the formula 
voluntarily, or must we resort to unpleasant forms 
of coercion?” 

Maintaining a firm hold on his pistol, he struck 
an expectant attitude. Cole, who had remained a 
silent but attentive listener, could see that Latham’s 
position in the scientific world, together with the 
work he had previously done for the organization. 



CORNERED 


285 

had convinced the professor that he really possessed 
a formula that would be of great value to the gang. 
Latham, on the other hand, seemed in a quandary 
as to how he might best use his precarious ad¬ 
vantage. Already it was slipping away from him, 
and soon, unless an unforeseen development came 
to his rescue, it might be turned against him. 

“You are taking a long time,” complained the 
professor. 

“It is a weighty question,” rejoined Latham. 

“Perhaps I can help you to arrive at a decision,” 
said Carmody, a faint, cruel smile parting his 
bloodless lips. Suddenly he shifted the aim of the 
pistol so that the barrel pointed straight to Miss 
Brownell. “I believe you are a man of your word, 
Latham. I shall count ten. Unless you give me a 
favorable reply before I reach ten. Miss Brownell 
will go to a better world.” 

The sardonic grin that had twisted the doctor's 
lips froze into a ghastly look of horror. Miss 
Brownell straightened a little in her chair, her face 
turned a shade paler, but there was no fear in the 
eyes he leveled at the professor. Critical as the 
moment was, Cole’s dominant sensation was ad¬ 
miration for her courage. 

Carmody began to count in his thin, brassy 
voice: “One—two—three—four-” 

Cole gazed narrowly into his face, as impassive 
as if carved out of wood. There seemed to be 
no doubt but what Carmody meant to carry out his 
monstrous threat. He flexed his muscles for a 
spring while the professor went on counting. 

“-five—six—seven—eight-” 




286 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


Cole lunged forward, staking everything on the 
chance of snatching the murderous weapon from the 
professor’s hand, but Doctor Latham acted even 
more quickly. With a sudden bound he crossed 
the floor and placed himself directly in front of 
the chair in which the girl sat. For a moment 
the pistol pointed straight at his midriff; then, with 
an exclamation of baffled rage, Carmody lowered 
the weapon. 

“Fool!” he snarled. “Step out of the way this 
instant, or I’ll kill both of you.” Once more the 
pistol rose in his hand. 

Very calmly, while Cole marveled at his audacity, 
Latham took a case from his pocket and with 
ostentatious serenity lighted a cigarette. 

“Fire away,” he said coolly, folding his arms 
across his chest and smoking with an air of perfect 
content. 

Carmody regarded him with a baleful glare, then 
abruptly changed his mind and started backing 
toward the door. He slammed it behind him with 
unnecessary vigor, and they heard the bolt slide 
in the lock. Latham flung away his cigarette. 

“Whew!” he exclaimed. “That was fairly ex¬ 
citing. I didn’t like the way Carmody looked when 
he left us, though. The old rat has something up 
his sleeve.” 

Cole nodded, wondering at the meaning of the 
professor’s hasty exit. “Our only hope is to spar 
for time, and we have been fairly successful so 
far,” he remarked. “That was a neat maneuver, 
Latham.” 

“It was splendid!” exclaimed the girl, and Cole 


CORNERED 


287 


noted a new expression in her wide, lustrous eyes 
as she fixed them on the physician. “But you 
mustn't do it again," she added firmly. “He might 
shoot next time." 

“How is the foot?" inquired Latham. 

“Better—much better. I think I can step down 
on it now." 

“You had better not try as yet," said the physi¬ 
cian with a professional air. “Cole and I may 
challenge you to a foot race by and by, and you 
must preserve your energies." 

She merely smiled at this, and again Cole noted 
the new, tender expression in her face. He was 
about to frame a remark, but just then the door 
opened. Two burly, hard-faced men, each with an 
automatic in his hand, entered the room. 

“The big chief wants to see you," announced 
one of them. “This way." He pointed toward 
the open door. 

Cole glanced narrowly at the weapon in his hand, 
then decided that at the present moment resistance 
would be worse than useless. There were other 
lives besides his own to be considered. Evidently 
the same thought had occurred to the doctor. After 
a moment's hesitation and an exchange of glances 
with Cole, he took the girl in his arms and carried 
her out followed by Cole. 

One of the armed men, walking at the head of 
the little procession, opened the door. 

“In there," he directed. “Step lively \" 

He gave Cole an ungentle shove with his auto¬ 
matic, and the three prisoners walked through the 
door. 


CHAPTER XXV 


FACE TO FACE 

C OLE glanced about the room they had entered. 

Its sparse furnishings suggested that it had 
been arranged in haste. There were a desk and a 
telephone, hinting that it served as the executive 
office of the gold-mad crowd, also a few chairs, a 
huge steel safe, and a cot. The cluttered condi¬ 
tion of the desk indicated that some one had re¬ 
cently been sitting there and would probably soon 
return. Cole’s gaze rested longingly on the tele¬ 
phone, the only connecting link with the outside 
world. 

Very gently Doctor Latham placed the girl in one 
of the chairs. As she looked up at him, her eyes 
were full of trust and gratitude. 

The doctor turned to one of the armed guards 
at the door. 

“Where is the benevolent gentleman whom you 
call the big chief?” he inquired. 

“You’ll see him soon enough,” replied the man 
surlily. 

“Good!” exclaimed Latham. “At last my curios¬ 
ity shall be satisfied. We have a pretty good idea 
what he looks like—eh, Cole?” 

“I think we do,” said Cole, a smile tugging at 
his lips. “Once or twice before my suspicions 
turned in the direction of the man I have in mind, 
but something threw me off the track. Now I am 
almost sure.” 


FACE TO FACE 


289 


Cole’s next words were spoken in an under¬ 
tone, too low for the girl to hear. “You realize 
what you are up against, don’t you, Latham?” 

“Against a bunch of cockeyed devils, of course.” 

“I had something more specific in mind. Pro¬ 
fessor Carmody has failed to bully us, so now the 
big chief himself is to have a try at it. You 
realize, of course, that he wouldn’t allow himself 

to be seen by us unless-” He paused and looked 

gravely at the doctor. 

“Yes, I understand,” whispered Latham, throw¬ 
ing an uneasy glance at Miss Brownell. “He 
wouldn’t show himself to us if he thought there 
was the slightest chance that we would ever tell 
tales about him. These scoundrels are planning to 
murder us, Cole.” 

“So it looks, but not until they have made one 
more effort to make you reveal the formula for 
the seventh ingredient.” 

There was a look of sad humor in the doctor’s 
eyes. “And next time they will try harder. I’ll 
keep up the bluff as long as I can. The seventh 
ingredient!” He chuckled grimly under his breath. 
“Like most humbugs, it sounds well.” 

Cole glanced expectantly toward the door. “A lit¬ 
tle while ago, out in the other room, when you 
stepped between Carmody’s pistol and Miss Brown¬ 
ell, did you expect the professor would shoot?” 

“I didn’t know what to expect, to tell the truth.” 

“Well, I knew he wouldn’t,” said Cole emphati¬ 
cally. “While we are waiting, you might try to 
figure out the reason why. When you find it, 
file it away in your mind for future reference. 



290 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


It may come in handy. We must stop this whis¬ 
pering. We are making Miss Brownell nervous.” 

A slight sound was heard in the corridor. 
The two armed guards stood aside, and then the 
door opened. A moment later, smiling thinly as he 
saw his suspicions confirmed. Cole faced the leader 
of the alchemists. 

“Good evening, Mr. Englebreth,” he said easily. 

An attendant pushed the invalid’s wheel chair 
up to the desk. Englebreth, his disproportionately 
broad shoulders slightly hunched, looked about the 
room with a rather listless expression. He was as 
white-faced as ever, and his pale, (washed-out eyes 
showed little animation, but a faintly sinister smile 
played about the long, thin lips. In his hand was 
a pistol with which he toyed with apparent care¬ 
lessness. 

He nodded at Cole, then, with a quick motion 
of his long, slim fingers, dismissed his attendant. 
The door closed, and the two armed guards stood 
in front of it. For a while no one spoke. A 
hush seemed to have descended over the little group 
with the invalid’s entrance. Latham regarded him 
intently, but without a sign of surprise. For a 
moment Englebreth’s pale eyes rested on Miss 
Brownell, then he glanced at the doctor, and finally 
at Cole. His forehead puckered a little. 

“You do not seem surprised to see me,” he 
remarked petulantly, as if disappointed that his 
entrance had created no sensation. 

“Why should I be?” Cole asked. 

“Surely you didn’t suspect until now that I was 
connected with the enterprise on foot here?” 


FACE TO FACE 


291 


“On the contrary/’ said Cole, “your entrance has 
only confirmed the suspicions that have been run¬ 
ning in and out of my head for the past two days. 
They began when I saw you enter the offices of 
the Bureau of Civic Research. They received a set¬ 
back when I learned that the letters you left on 
the desk were genuine.” 

Englebreth seemed mildly amused. “I am a pub¬ 
lic-spirited man,” he declared. “The Bureau of 
Civic Research is one of the numerous praise¬ 
worthy activities I am interested in. Being one of 
its honorary vice presidents I have free access to 
its headquarters, of course. When I learned, quite 
by accident, that a certain mysterious organization, 
located on the top floor of the building, was resist¬ 
ing my plans, then this privilege stood me in good 
stead. You might have guessed, Cole, that I left 
those letters for a blind, just to show any casual 
visitor that everything was open and aboveboard.” 

“I might,” said Cole dryly. 

“Yet you have proven yourself a very fair 
guesser, I must say. You are a clever fellow, Cole. 
The Unknown Seven didn’t become really danger¬ 
ous to us until you took charge of its activities. 
Not that you have accomplished anything,” he added 
with a dry chuckle. “We are too strong even for 
you.” 

Cole received the compliment with a shrug. A 
silence fell between them. In the stillness the 
rhythmic humming of machinery was distinctly 
heard. In Cole’s ears it sounded like a paean of 
gold. He looked deep into Englebreth’s pale eyes. 
There was a queer flicker in the depths, an ex- 


292 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

pression of insatiable greed to which the subter¬ 
ranean whir and throw was but the audible accom¬ 
paniment. He had seen the same expression in 
Reeves’ burning orbs and also in the eyes of Car- 
mody and Ballinger. There was something abysmal 
about it. It suggested one who, having gazed too 
long on visions of great wealth, had become enslaved 
to a fearful obsession. 

“Yes, you are very clever,” Englebreth went on. 
“It did not occur to me that any one might suspect 
what the safe contained, but evidently you did. 
You followed the yacht, of course. It was a very 
ingenious move, Cole. Without doing so you would 
never have located our establishment here. Now 
that you are here what do you propose to do?” 

Cole only smiled. Again he looked deep into 
Englebreth’s eyes and saw the smoldering fires of 
the fever of gold. 

“My wife is an admirer of yours, Cole,” the 
invalid went on. “When her brother disappeard she 
insisted that I engage you to find him. Of course 
I couldn’t very well refuse. It would have looked 
suspicious, and, besides, I supposed you were harm¬ 
less. When I saw that you were about to learn too 
much, through your connection with me, I succeeded 
in persuading my wife that you were not worthy of 
confidence, that it was best to dismiss you. Again 
I ask you what you intend to do.” 

The words sounded like a taunt. Again Cole 
slanted a glance at the telephone. The instrument 
tantalized him. He noticed that the green cord at¬ 
tached to its base was of generous length. His 
mind worked quickly, but the sight of the three 


FACE TO FACE 


293 * 


automatics baffled him. A sudden move would mean 
instant death, not only for himself, but for his 
two companions as well. 

“You seem irresolute/’ Englebreth observed. “And 
no wonder, Cole. For once in your life, you are 
absolutely helpless. You have been entirely too 
meddlesome, and people who meddle in others* 
affairs usually get into trouble. Listen!” 

Cole listened. A faint smile played about Engle- 
breth’s lips as the whirring of machinery sounded 
clearly in the surrounding silence. 

“Know what it means, Cole. It means gold! 
Gold!” His lips seemed to caress the word. “Mil¬ 
lions and millions and millions, Cole. After you 
are gone we shall be turning out gold in unlimited 
quantities. I and my associates shall be the richest 
men in the world. And you, poor worm, who 
thought you could stop us, will be reduced to a few 
grains of dust.” 

“Sure of that?” demanded Cole. 

His tone, clear and confident, seemed to impress 
the invalid. 

“'Why do you ask? Surely you don’t expect to 
escape from your present predicament. As it hap¬ 
pens, all the members of my organization are here 
to-night. A touch of my finger will summon twenty 
men to my assistance, if necessary.” 

He scanned Cole’s face for a sign of fear, but 
none came. The other’s coolness seemed to nettle 
him. 

“So the gang is all here,” said Cole carelessly. 
“That means, of course, that Doctor Ballinger is 
included ?” 


294 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“Naturally. An excellent man, Ballinger. He 
has a practical mind, and he knows on which side 
his bread is buttered. Why do you ask ?” 

“I am glad he is here,” said Cole. “I wouldn’t 
want him to get away from me, you know.” 

The invalid leaned out of the chair and stared. 
“Get away?” he echoed. “What do you mean?” 

“I have a particular score to settle with Bal¬ 
linger,” said Cole calmly. “Naturally I want him 
present when I hand you and your gang over to 
the police.” 

“When you-” Englebreth was utterly as¬ 
tounded. “If you think this is a joking matter-” 

“I was never more serious in my life, Englebreth. 
Before daybreak I expect to hand every mother’s 
son of you over to the authorities.” 

Englebreth stared for a moment longer; then he 
laughed hoarsely. Cole could see that his cool in¬ 
solence had exerted the intended moral effect. The 
invalid, though the advantage was all on his side, 
felt just a trifle ill at ease. Cole’s demeanor was 
well calculated to suggest that a surprise of some 
sort was forthcoming. Englebreth would not have 
been human if he had failed to be impressed by 
the airy assurance of one whom he thought wholly 
at his mercy. 

Finally he shrugged. “You must be mad,” he 
muttered. Then he faced Latham, who stood be¬ 
side the chair in which Miss Brownell sat. “I 
have something to say to you, doctor. You did 
us a service once, and that is something I never 
forget. If you will-” 

“Save your breath,” interrupted Latham con- 





FACE TO FACE 


295 


temptuously. “For a time, a little while ago, I was 
tempted to enter into negotiations with you, but 
Miss Brownell wouldn’t hear of it. What is a 
mere man to do when a woman sets her foot 
down ?” 

“Your flippancy is ill-timed,” said Englebreth 
austerely. 

“Hasn’t one a right to joke at one’s own funeral?” 

“We shall see.” Englebreth’s lips tightened 
ominously. “You know what we want from you, 
doctor. Only a formula that by right belongs to 
us, since you worked it out while you were a mem¬ 
ber of this organization. Produce it, and I promise 
to be lenient with you and Miss Brownell. Unless 
my senses deceive me”—and Englebreth smiled 
craftily—“you are very anxious that nothing un¬ 
pleasant shall happen to her.” 

Latham hesitated, impressed by the cruel smile 
on the invalid’s lips, and the girl answered in his 
place. 

“Doctor Latham’s answer is no” she declared 
emphatically. 

Englebreth regarded her curiously, with an odd 
mingling of admiration and malice. “You are a 
stubborn young person,” he muttered. “For the 
last time, doctor, I ask you if you will consent 
to my terms.” 

Again it was Miss Brownell who answered. “Doc¬ 
tor Latham refuses,” she declared. “He knows 
that your promises are worthless, that you intend 
to kill us regardless of whether or not he grants 
your request. I don’t think there is anything fur¬ 
ther to be said.” 


296 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

“No?” Englebreth’s thin fingers seemed to tighten 
around the pistol. “Perhaps I can convince 
you-” 

He stopped short. A squeallike cry of aston¬ 
ishment escaped him, for Cole had just done a very 
unexpected thing. It was so unexpected, in fact, 
that it seemed like the act of a person whose 
reason was tottering. With arms folded across 
his chest he had casually approached the chair in 
which Miss Brownell sat. For a time he had seemed 
absorbed in deep thought, but all the while he 
had been scheming how he might divert Englebreth’s 
attention, even if only for a moment, from the 
menacing pistol in his hand. Anything of a 
startling nature, the more bizarre and ludicrous the 
better, would serve his purpose. Now he turned 
suddenly and gave the girl a resounding slap on 
the cheek. He followed it up with another, then 
with a third. 

A spell seemed to fall over the gathering. They 
had witnessed an act, in itself trivial and ridiculous, 
that staggered their reason by its sheer fatuity. For 
a measured moment their minds were at a standstill. 
That was exactly what Cole had intended, and a 
moment was all he needed. He had acted on a 
fugitive inspiration at a time when all seemed lost, 
when a move of a more rational nature would 
only have hastened the inevitable. 

The resounding smack of the third blow had 
scarcely drifted out on the silence when he leaped 
at the invalid’s chair. In an instant, while the 
minds of Englebreth and the two guards at the 
door were still dazed from contemplation of a 


FACE TO FACE 


297 


thing so bizarre, he had snatched the pistol from the 
cripple’s hand. A moment later he was crouching 
low behind Englebreth’s chair, pressing the muzzle 
of the weapon against his back. 

He thrilled inwardly. Once more his mind had 
triumphed over a critical situation. The other time 
had been when he faced Professor Carmody in the 
Bureau of Civic Research. The professor had been 
thrown off his mental base by a trick just as simple 
and effective. 

“Tell your men to drop their weapons,” he com¬ 
manded, the muzzle of the pistol prodding Engle¬ 
breth’s back. “I’ll give you exactly ten seconds. 
Unless you obey, you will be a dead man.” 

Englebreth squirmed in the chair, evidently in a 
state of great terror. In a few minutes his angle 
mind might reassert itself, but just now he was 
merely a shivering wreck. His trembling hand went 
up and made a signal to his men just as Cole was 
about to call time. Habitually obedient to the master 
will, the men at the door dropped their pistols. 

Cole rose from his crouching position behind 
Englebreth’s chair. Latham and the girl stared at 
him bewilderedly, the latter moving her hand dazedly 
over the cheek that Cole had struck, both seemingly 
unable to realize as yet what had happened. Engle¬ 
breth was breathing raspingly. The two guards at 
the door gazed dully at the erect figure behind the 
invalid’s chair. 

“Pick up those pistols, Latham,” said Cole quietly. 
“Pardon my rudeness, Miss Brownell. It was neces¬ 
sary.” 

She smiled uncertainly, evidently beginning to un- 


298 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

derstand. It was several moments before the physi¬ 
cian could shake off his stupefaction. He moved 
haltingly over the floor and dazedly took possession 
of the pistols. 

“It was magnificent, Mr. Cole!” murmured the 
girl, at last grasping the psychological stratagem by 
which Cole had reversed the situation. 

“But if I hadn’t seen it happen, I would have 
sworn it couldn’t be done,” said Latham. 

Cole s face was grave. His ruse had only averted 
their immediate danger. Any moment other mem¬ 
bers of the organization might pour into the room, 
crushing them by superior numbers. Every second 
counted now. Holding the pistol in one hand, Cole 
drew the telephone to him and spoke a number in 
the transmitter. Only a few words would be needed 
to make Carlin understand the situation, and within 
an hour reinforcements would arrive. He won¬ 
dered, as he waited for his connection, if they 
could hold out until then. Impatiently he jigged 
the hook, muttering heartfelt imprecations upon the 
state of the rural telephone service, and then, in a 
twinkling, something happened. 

He saw the cripple’s weazened hand move stealth¬ 
ily along the side of the desk, became conscious 
that a heretofore unnoticed door had burst open 
behind him, heard the girl’s quick, startled cry, saw 
the light blotted out as if a pall had suddenly 
dropped over the little room, felt a stinging blow 
at the back of the head, and, with Englebreth’s 
diabolic chuckles dinning in his ears, fell to the 
floor. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A CRY 

OLD! Gold!” The vibrant murmurs, edged 
with a triumphant and sinister note, echoed 
in Cole’s ears as he opened his eyes. The house 
was shivering with a slow, rhythmic tremor, a throb¬ 
bing pulsation that instantly begun to pierce the fog 
in his mind. 

From his recumbent position on the floor he 
struggled to a sitting posture. Lifting his head, 
he listened to the grimly exultant paean rising from 
the bowels of the earth. 

“Feeling better?” asked a voice which he vaguely 
recognized at Doctor Latham’s. 

Cole did not answer. The subterranean vibrations 
Seemed to cast a spell over his awakening senses. 

“Hear it?” he asked at length. 

“Hear what?” 

“This infernal hymn of gold. It will drive me 
crazy if I have to listen to it much longer.” 

“Then don’t listen. Know what time it is?” 

Cole shook his head as if to indicate that the 
matter was of absolutely no importance. 

“Precisely twelve o’clock,” said the doctor, and 
Cole heard something resembling the snapping of a 
watch lid. “You have been unconscious for some¬ 
thing like ten hours. That was the second knock¬ 
out in a night, Cole. Why can’t these scoundrels 
show a little versatility?” 

“What happened?” asked Cole dully. 


/ 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


300 

“As if that mattered now! Englebreth gave a 
signal of some sort, and the next thing I knew 
about half a dozen of his hired thugs swooped 
down on us. My recollections cease at that point/' 

“Where are we?" 

“In the same room we occupied last night, be¬ 
fore we were ushered into Englebreth’s august 
presence. The windows are just as tightly shut¬ 
tered as they were then, and the door is just as 
impregnable. I wonder if these hounds mean to let 
us starve to death." 

Cole looked about him. An electric light 
was burning dimly over their heads. Through a 
narrow rift in one of the shutters came a shaft 
of sunlight, gilding the dust in the stale air. 

“Where is Miss Brownell?" he asked abruptly. 

Wish I knew," muttered the doctor. Of a sudden 
all the levity had died out of his voice. “You and 
I were alone in this room when I came to. If 

these rats harm a single hair on her head-" 

The threat died unfinished in a groan. 

With difficulty Cole rose to his feet and leaned 
against the wall. 

“I don't seem to remember just where we were 
at," he mumbled. 

“You gave Miss Brownell a slap on the cheek," 
the doctor reminded him. “It was a brilliant idea, 
Cole." 

“So it was—but it failed, as I remember," Cole 
muttered grimly. “What was the situation just 
before that?" 

“Englebreth was doing his level best to bluff me 
into revealing the formula of the mythical seventh 



A CRY 


301 


ingredient. Perhaps you remember his sportsman¬ 
like proposition. I was to give him the formula in 
return for my life. ,, 

“He would promptly kill you the moment you 
surrendered the formula," Cole pointed out. 

“Without a doubt. He would kill all three of 
us. But, as it happens, I can't give him the formula, 
because it doesn't exist." 

“But as long as he thinks it does, we are holding 
a trump card in reserve," said Cole, regaining his 
grip on the tangled threads of the situation. 

“If only we knew how to use it!” 

“We'll find a way," said Cole confidently, drag¬ 
ging himself to a chair at one side of the room. 
“Anything about your person that could be used 
as a weapon in an emergency?" 

“Not a thing. I am plucked clean." 

“So am I," said Cole after a hasty survey of 
his pockets. “No, here is a stick pin. They seem 
to have overlooked that. The pin is long and 
sharp. You could pierce a person’s jugular vein 
with an implement of this kind, couldn’t you, 
doctor?" 

“If you knew exactly where to strike." 

“You do, of course, being a doctor. As a 
weapon it would be useless in my hand, so I will 
transfer it to you. I suggest you conceal it under 
the lapel of your coat.” 

Puzzled, Latham took the ornament and did 
as Cole had directed. As he hid it under his lapel, 
he seemed inclined to ask a question, but Cole 
forestalled him. 


302 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“I think some one is coming/' he remarked in &n 
undertone. 

Latham, listening, heard the sounds which Cole's 
keener ears had caught first. Folding his arms 
across his chest, he struck a carefree pose and 
looked toward the door. It opened, and two armed 
stalwarts walked in. They were followed by Engle- 
breth in his wheel chair. Two more guards, also 
armed, brought up the rear. With a cautious look 
to all sides, the invalid trundled his wheel ohair into 
the center of the room. The barrel of a small 
automatic gleamed viciously in the electric light. 

'‘How do you do, gentlemen?" he said in tones 
of mock geniality. “Wish I could offer you some 
bres 1 *ast, but it has been my experience that people 
are always more reasonable when their stomachs 
are empty. I have come to renew our discussion 
where we left off last night." He fixed his bleak 
and very alert eyes on Doctor Latham. 

“Better save your breath," suggested the physi¬ 
cian. “You may need it before we are through 
with you." 

Englebreth smiled serenely. “I don't blame 
you, doctor, for trying to bolster up your courage. 
People usually resort to false bravado when they 
are hopelessly situated. Our friend Cole enacted 
quite a spectacular scene last night, but he will 
hardly try anything like that again. He has learned 
his lesson. Well, doctor, are you ready to oblige 
us?" 

“If you will drop that automatic, I’ll oblige you 
with a smash on the jaw," said the physician in 
unprofessional but impressive language. 


A CRY 


303 


Still stubborn, I see.” His smile took on a 
sinister quality. “I suppose you are wondering 
what has become of Miss Brownell?” 

The doctor bit his lip, but his gaze did not 
waver. “If anything happens to Miss Brownell,” 
he muttered hotly, ‘Til choke you to death with 
my bare hands.” 

“Save your threats, doctor. They don’t interest 
me in the least. As yet nothing whatever has hap¬ 
pened to Miss Brownell, but something will unless 
you adopt a more reasonable attitude. I warn you 
that it will be something decidedly unpleasant.” He 
turned slightly in the chair and addressed one of 
his bodyguards. “Ask Doctor Ballinger to step in 
here.” 

The man nodded and left the room. A question¬ 
ing glance passed between Latham and Cole, the 
former looking as if a dread suspicion had sud¬ 
denly occurred to him. In a few moments the 
messenger returned with Ballinger. The physician 
strode in with a jaunty air and saluted Cole and 
Latham with exaggerated politeness. 

“Ah, Ballinger,” said the cripple in an under¬ 
tone, yet loud enough for the two prisoners to 
hear, “I just wished to make certain that you have 
made all necessary arrangements for the—ahem— 
experiment we discussed last night.” 

Cole, casting a sidelong glance at Latham, saw 
him stiffen suddenly. A film of pallor spread above 
the bearded portion of his face. 

“Yes, everything is ready,” announced Ballinger. 

“The instruments came?” 

“Just a little while ago.” 


304 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


“And the ether ?” 

“It is here too.” 

“Good, Ballinger. Be ready to proceed the mo¬ 
ment you hear from me.” He waved a withered 
hand in dismissal. 

Ballinger, an inscrutable smile playing about his 
lips, left the room. An intense silence followed. 
The cripple’s gelid gaze moved from Latham to 
Cole, and then back to Latham. 

“You understood?” he asked. 

Neither man answered. A harrowing suspicion 
seemed to have come over both of them. Latham 
looked as if his powerful body was racked by an 
agonizing dread. 

“Ballinger is a very clever man,” murmured the 
invalid. “You know what happened to Malcolm 
Reeves.” He paused, looked stonily at Doctor 
Latham, as if waiting for his last words to pro¬ 
duce their utmost effect. “The same thing,” he 
added slowly, measuring each word, “will happen 
to Miss Brownell unless you change your mind, 
Latham.” 

A cry of mingled horror, loathing and hate broke 
from Latham’s compressed lips. He sprang toward 
the cripple, hand raised as if to strike, but in an 
instant two of the bodyguards intervened. 

“Glad we understand each other, Latham,” said 
the cripple calmly. “The operation will start in 
fifteen minutes unless you submit to my terms.” 

Latham stood speechless. The only sound heard 
in the room was a great sigh. 

“Don’t like the idea, eh, Latham?” the invalid 
went on in smooth, dulcet tones. “The spectacle 


A CRY 


305 

of Miss Brownell reduced to a gibbering lunatic 
is a little too much for your imagination to dwell 
on* You have a vivid recollection of what hap¬ 
pened to Reeves.” 

A dull, hoarse groan sounded in the physician’s 
chest. Cole, watching him, thought he was about 
to give way under an overwhelming strain. 

“You’re mistaken, Englebreth,” he managed to 
say. “There is no such thing as the seventh in¬ 
gredient. I let you go on thinking so because-” 

Englebreth interrupted with a wave of his hand. 
“I expected you to say that. It would be your 
logical evasion. You can’t deceive me with such 
nonsense. Only last night you discussed the possi¬ 
bilities of the seventh ingredient with Professor 
Carmody. As he explained it to me, it’s a sort of 
electronic reaction. Not being a scientific man, I 
don’t understand what that means, but it doesn’t 
matter. I have the utmost respect for your scientific 
achievements, doctor. Will you give us the 
formula ?” 

Latham fumbled in vain for a convincing argu¬ 
ment. His advantage had not only slipped away 
from him, but it had become a deadly boomerang 
in Englebreth’s hand. 

“I swear I am telling you the truth!” he cried 
brokenly. 

A cold smile curled the cripple’s lips. “Such 
childish subterfuge doesn’t go with me,” he said 
contemptuously. “Either you give me the formula 
instantly, or Miss Brownell will be a lunatic inside 
of an hour. Take your choice.” 

He leaned back in the chair, slowly and playfully 



306 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

twisting the automatic in his hand. Cole stepped 
forward. 

“Latham has told you the truth,” he declared. 
“The seventh ingredient never existed outside of 
his imagination.” 

Englebreth shrugged with an air of utter in¬ 
credulity. Cole could see that there was no way 
of disturbing his firmly rooted belief. And he 
knew that, even if the seventh ingredient had been 
a reality, Latham’s submission would not have al¬ 
tered their situation. 

Englebreth looked at his watch, then summoned 
one of his bodyguards and whispered something in 
his ear. The man left the room. The slamming of 
the door sounded like a death knell in the tense 
silence. Latham’s chest heaved in a frenzy of sup¬ 
pressed emotions. Minutes passed, and then hurried 
footsteps sounded overhead, accompanied by the 
sound of a resisting body being dragged over the 
floor. Latham, with a wild look in his face, started 
forward, but one of the guards shoved him back. 
Breathing fast and raspingly he swayed unsteadily 
on his feet. Of a sudden he gave a violent start, 
then stood as if frozen into immobility. From 
the room above came a long cry of terror, uttered 
in a woman’s voice. 

Latham’s bulging eyes stared upward. There was 
a look of insanity in his face. 

“Stop it!” he cried hoarsely. “For God’s 
sake-” 

Another cry, more poignant than the others, 
shrilled through the house. 

“Stop it—you fiend!” cried Latham. 



A CRY 


307 

I will, on one condition,” said Englebreth calmly. 
“There is still time. They are only making prepara¬ 
tions upstairs. She won’t cry when the real busi¬ 
ness begins.’’ 

Latham’s hand went to his eyes as if to exclude 
a hideous vision. 

“Careful, Englebreth!” said Cole evenly. “If you 
go too far, Latham may lose his mind.” 

“And if he does, what then?” demanded the 
cripple jeeringly. 

“A number of things may happen.” Cole gave 
the physician a level, significant glance. “For in¬ 
stance, Latham may take it into his head to kill 
himself.” 

The physician’s head went up. His hands left 
his face. A look of dawning comprehension crept 
into his features. He turned his head and for an 
instant his eyes met Cole’s, reading a message there. 

“Kill himself?” echoed the cripple, astonished. 
“What rot, Cole! How would he do it, and why?” 

“Ask him,” said Cole with a careless gesture. 
“I can only point out to you that if he kills himself 
the secret of the seventh ingredient dies with him. 
Look! He is-” 

He simulated a cry of astonishment and horror. 
Latham, quickly interpreting the message he had 
read in Cole’s eyes, had snatched the stick pin from 
under the lapel of his coat. 

“Watch me, Englebreth,” he declared in a voice 
that had suddenly retrieved all its lost vigor. “Even 
a stick pin makes quite a formidable weapon if it’s 
pointed in the right direction. I am pointing this 
one straight at my jugular vein. The moment 


308 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


anybody in this room makes a move, I drive it in. 
Where will your seventh ingredient be then, Engle¬ 
breth?” 

The cripple stared at him in speechless bafflement. 
He raised a hand, but it fell limply to his side. 

“You—you’re crazy!” he stuttered. 

“Maybe,” said Latham coolly. 

“Or else you are only bluffing.” There was a 
frace of doubt in Englebreth’s tones. 

“Why should I be bluffing? I would rather kill 
myself than be killed by your bunch of hyenas. I 
know you meant to kill me, anyway, Englebreth. 
One thing is certain. Unless you stop the prepara¬ 
tions upstairs within the next sixty seconds, your 
last hope of obtaining that formula will be gone. 
You can’t get anything out of a dead man.” 

Englebreth strained forward in his chair, staring 
into the physician’s grim, determined face. 

“He means what he says,” Cole declared, smiling 
despite the tension of the moment. “You will have 
to act quickly, Englebreth.” 

The cripple considered a moment longer, then 
bawled an order to one of the men at the door. 
The fellow hurried away, and in a moment they 
heard him scurrying up the stairs. An exchange 
of words sounded overhead, then all was quiet. 

Englebreth made an impatient gesture with his 
hand. The bodyguard closed in around him, and 
with petulant motions he wheeled himself out of the 
room. At the door he turned his head for a 
moment, and a little chill rippled down Cole’s back 
as he saw the cold, malignant look in the cripple’s 
eye. 


CHAPTER XXVII 

THE WAY OUT 

T^VOCTOR LATHAM stroked his beard thought- 
fully as the door closed behind the invalid and 
his retinue. “It worked like magic/' he remarked. 

“It worked/' Cole amplified, “because we were 
dealing with a logical mind, one that deals mainly 
with reason and fails to consider the human equa¬ 
tion. We know that Englebreth means to kill us 
in the end, and he knows that we know it. That 
being the case, it wasn't hard for him to put him¬ 
self in your place a little while ago. He would have 
done what you threatened to do, because it was 
the logical move under the circumstances. I won¬ 
der what deviltry Englebreth will be planning next." 

“A seven-course dinner, I hope," said the doctor 
wistfully. “I'm famished." 

Cole regarded him musingly, marveling at the 
resiliency of his spirits. Latham appeared to have 
shaken off all external cares the moment he saw 
that Miss Brownell was no longer in immediate 
danger. 

“You might as well restrain your appetite, doc¬ 
tor,” he murmured. “You heard what Englebreth 
said, that a man is most amenable to argument when 
he is hungry. At any rate, it is worth something 
to know that he doesn't want you to die just yet. 
He showed that plainly when you made that monu¬ 
mental bluff with the stick pin. I saw him turn 
white as a ghost." 

“Thanks to the seventh ingredient," said Latham 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


3!o 

with a chuckle. “It’s the best kind of life insurance, 
but I fear it won’t last long. Any more tricks 
in your repertory, Cole?” 

“One more, I think.” Cole glanced toward the 
shadowy corner where he had stood during Engle- 
breth’s presence in the room. “I understand,” he 
[went on casually, “that Dutchess Point was once 
a very gay place.” 

“If so, its gayety hasn’t improved with age.” 

Cole ignored his flippancy. “I’ve been told it 
was once a notorious gambling resort. Places of 
that kind are usually equipped with contrivances 
for making hasty exits—trapdoors, sliding panels 
and that sort of thing.” 

Latham raised his brows. “What are you get¬ 
ting at?” 

But Cole seemed in no hurry to approach his 
subject. “Ever notice, Latham, that many people 
find it very hard to remain motionless when they 
are in a state of deep mental concentration? Physi¬ 
cal movement of some sort seems a necessary relief 
from mental effort. One man I know is always 
plucking at his watch chain when he is absorbed 
in some mental task. Another taps his desk with a 
pencil. My own favorite diversion on such occa¬ 
sions is to beat a tattoo with my knuckles.” 

“Highly interesting,” remarked Latham, “but I 
fail to see the point. It is either very shallow or 
yery deep.” 

Neither, Latham. A little while ago, while you 
were enacting that highly dramatic scene for Engle- 
breth s benefit, I stood back there in the corner, 
with my hands behind my back, tapping the wall 


THE WAY OUT 


3il 

with my knuckles. No one noticed me, for you held 
the attention of everybody in the room. I didn't 
realize what I was doing myself until suddenly I 
became aware that my knuckles were producing a 
hollow sound.” 

Doctor Latham gasped. “You mean that-” 

“We shall see,” said Cole; and in an instant he 
was back in the corner, crouching low while his 
knuckles hammered the wall, each tap producing a 
dull, hollow sound. The doctor, visibly excited, 
stood behind him, watching every move he made. 
Cole continued the tapping until he had determined 
the boundaries of the hollow space, extending about 
five feet from the corner, and then he got down on 
his knees and ran his hands along the beveled joint 
between wall and floor. A little cry of elation 
escaped him as his fingers encountered a small pro¬ 
tuberance. Almost instantly a portion of the wall 
turned back as if swinging on a central pivot. In 
front of them extended a long, dark hall. 

“Great!” exclaimed Latham, his voice shaking a 
little. “You deserve a harp and a halo, Cole. Now 
let's make the hasty exit you spoke of.” 

He pressed forward, but Cole pulled him back. 
“I don’t want a harp and a halo just yet,” he de¬ 
clared, “and that’s why we are going to stay in this 
room a while longer. You forget that it s still broad 
daylight outside. If we went out now, we would 
doubtless run into one of Englebreth’s sluggers. 
We must wait till dark.” 

Latham groaned as Cole closed the opening. He 
glanced at his watch. “Only half past three. That 
means a wait of several hours.” 


3 ™ 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


‘T know. That will give us ample time to lay 
our plans. Don’t forget that we are both unarmed, 
and that we’ll cut a sorry figure if we should be 
caught. We don’t want to waste the only ad¬ 
vantage we have.” 

“You are right, of course,” admitted the doctor. 
“What do you suggest?” 

Cole reflected. “It isn’t likely Englebreth knows 
anything about the hidden exit. If he did, he would 
have chosen a different cell for us. We’ll treat 
him to a little surprise after dark, Latham. Its 
exact nature will be determined by whatever de¬ 
velopments come along in the meantime.” 

“Wish they would hurry,” mumbled the doctor, 
all impatience now that a way out had been found. 
He sat down, lighted a cigarette, and made ostenta¬ 
tious efforts to compose himself for a wait. An 
hour dragged by. The beam of light coming 
through the narrow rift in the shutter grew thin 
and pale. Another hour passed, and it disappeared 
altogether. Latham got up and began pacing the 
floor with long, lunging strides. For a long time 
not a word had been uttered between the two men. 

“Isn’t it about time to make a move?” asked 
Latham suddenly. 

Cole started. The subterranean pulsations, sound¬ 
ing clear and exultant in the stillness, had cast a 
spell over his senses. Now he looked at his watch 
in the light of the electric bulb overhead. 

“Better wait another hour,” he suggested. 

Doctor Latham swore under his breath, tKen 
lighted another cigarette. 

“Queer we haven’t heard from Englebreth,” Cole 


THE WAY OUT 


3i3 

remarked. “I expected another call from him be¬ 
fore dark.” 

“He is probably meditating over his next move. 
I imagine he is planning a very brilliant stroke. 
But we’ll checkmate him, eh, Cole?” 

Latham’s impatience was beginning to communi¬ 
cate itself to Cole. He took his watch from his 
pocket, and in the same instant a noise sounded 
outside the door. In a moment it opened, and two 
huskies, with leveled automatics, appeared in the 
room. 

“Miss Brownell wants you,” announced one of 
them, addressing Doctor Latham. 

The physician, evidently in a quandary, looked 
questioningly at Cole. For only a moment Cole 
hesitated. Doubtless the summons meant that Engle- 
“breth was trying a new mode of attack and that the 
reference to Miss Brownell was only a subterfuge. 

Cole nodded in response to the physician’s un¬ 
spoken question. “If Miss Brownell wants you, 
you must go to her,” he declared, conscious that one 
of the guards was watching him intently. In an 
undertone he added: “If you get into a pinch, keep 
stalling till I show up.” 

Latham nodded and walked out, accompanied by 
the two gangsters. Cole watched him until the door 
closed behind him. 

“Wonder what Englebreth is up to this time,” he 
muttered; and then, moving quickly, he stepped into 
the corner and, opening the hidden door, stepped 
out into the dark hall beyond. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE ENEMY STRIKES 

OILENT as a shadow, Cole hurried down the hall, 
^ which seemed to extend endlessly in an un¬ 
deviating direction. Believing it had once been used 
as an emergency exit he supposed it would even¬ 
tually lead into the open. He had made no plans 
beyond the immediate present, but it was his in¬ 
tention to join Doctor Latham as soon as possible 
and, taking advantage of the sensation his unex¬ 
pected appearance would create, make the most of 
his opportunity. Beyond doubt the physician Was in 
desperate danger. The murderous glance Engle- 
breth had thrown over his shoulder as he left them 
a few hours ago had left an ominous imprint on 
Cole’s mind. 

Soon he brought up against an obstruction, ap¬ 
parently a blank stretch of wall. He fumbled with 
his hands along the surface expecting to find a 
contrivance similar to the one at the other end 
of the wall. Soon his fingers encountered the little 
knob at the bottom which told him his surmise 
had been correct. Cautiously he pressed outward 
and the obstruction gave. A breath of cool night 
air fanned his face as he stepped out. 

Hugging close to the wall he looked about him. 
Evidently he was in the rear of the house, in a wide 
recess formed by two projecting wings. Above 
him and to the sides were several lighted windows. 


THE ENEMY STRIKES 


3i5 


while ahead of him was a sloping, rock-strewn 
stretch of landscape. Carefully picking his way, he 
stepped along the nearest wall, all his senses on 

the alert against an interruption. He reached the 
corner, looked around the edge of the wall, and 

then drew back. A stalwart individual, evidently one 
of Englebreth’s lookouts, was coming toward him. 

Cole shrank back against the wall, waited until 
the man rounded the corner, then swung out with 
his right hand and landed a smashing blow on the 
fellow’s jaw. Without a sound the sentry dropped 

to the ground, and Cole dragged him into the 

shadows along the wall. It took him but a few 
moments to undo the man’s shoe laces and secure 
his hands and feet. Next he ripped out the lining 
from his coat, folded it into a narrow strip, and 
firmly applied it as a gag. Last of all he extracted 
an automatic from the unconscious man’s hip pocket. 

“1’m in luck so far,” he told himself, making cer¬ 
tain that the weapon was loaded before he continued 
his interrupted progress. He breathed more easily 
now, for the possession of a firearm had a soothing 
effect on his nerves. He crawled forward along 
the wall, exercising infinite care, until he reached 
a window in the wing. It was dark, and no sound 
came from within, signifying that this part of the 
building was not used by the gang. He placed 
his elbow against the pane, pressing firmly until the 
glass cracked. Dislodging several of the splinters, 
he pushed a hand through the opening and released 
the catch. In a moment he was inside and began 
to pick his way cautiously across the floor. At the 
farther side he opened a door, traversed another 


3i6 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


dark and deserted room, then still another. Soon 
he found himself in a hall, and after a glance up 
and down its length selected a door at random. 
The moment he stepped inside voices reached his 
ears. Along the side, diagonally across the floor 
from where he stood, a narrow streak of light 
showed the location of the door. 

He tiptoed across the floor, placed his hand on the 
knob, turned it carefully, and opened the door an 
infinitesimal crack. In an instant he recognized the 
room. It was the office that had been the scene of 
his short-lived triumph the night before. Engle- 
breth was seated at the desk, occupying the same 
wheel chair in which he had sat while witness¬ 
ing Cole’s abortive ruse. The door before which 
Cole now stood was the one that had so abruptly 
opened while he was on the point of telephoning 
Carlin. He was vaguely aware that the scene had 
changed since last night, but he had no time to 
observe details. His attention was instantly en¬ 
grossed by the little drama taking place before his 
eyes. 

On a cot placed along the farther side of the 
room lay Latham, and, save for an occasional turn 
of the head, he lay so still that Cole, although he 
could not see distinctly, guessed that he must be 
strapped to the cot. Over him, bending slightly, 
with a wicked smile playing about his bearded 
lips, stood Doctor Ballinger, and in his hand was 
a small object which Cole could not distinguish. 
The only other occupants of the room were Engle- 
breth and two of the stalwart bodyguards who al¬ 
ways seemed to be hovering about him. 


THE ENEMY STRIKES 


3 i 7 


“Yes, it was clever, Latham,” the cripple was 
saying. “You played your cards just right. 
Whether you were serious or whether you were 
bluffing is beside the point. Your death would have 
been ill-timed from my point of view. I don’t 
think you are afraid to die, Latham. There is 
one thing you are afraid of, however.” 

He stopped. For several moments the room was 
yery still. Ballinger, straightening his back, looked 
meditatively at the object in his hand, which, as 
Cole now perceived, was a small bottle. 

“That one thing is blindness, Latham,” added 
the cripple impressively. “Tell him, Ballinger.” 

Ballinger held the vial before the recumbent man’s 
eyes. “One small particle of this fluid dropped 
into each of your eyes will blind you for life,” 
he announced. “Not a pleasant thing to contem¬ 
plate, eh, Latham?” 

Cole started as he saw the diabolical form of 
persuasion that was being employed by the con¬ 
spirators to make Latham reveal what he was sup¬ 
posed to know. It was a threat far more hideous 
than death itself. He saw Latham’s chest heave 
upward as he strained against the fetters that held 
him to the cot. 

“What do you say, Latham?” asked the cripple, 
bending slightly out of his chair. 

“I’ll say that you and Ballinger are a pair of 
scurvy blackguards,” was the physician’s retort. “I 
take solemn oath that I will send each of you to 
jail with a black eye.” 

Ballinger laughed derisively. 

“Still stubborn, I see,” Englebreth remarked. “I 


318 THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 

am warning you for the last time, Latham. If you 
think Cole can come to your rescue, you are mis¬ 
taken. Between you and me, that infernal meddler 
will never leave Dutchess Point alive. With you 
it is different. You can make yourself useful to 
us, and that is why I am offering you terms. But 
you must decide quickly.’’ 

“Go to blazes!” said Latham, but there was a, 
catch in his voice, scarcely audible even to Cole’s 
keen ears, which told that his courage was falter¬ 
ing. 

“He thinks we are bluffing, Ballinger,” said Engle- 
breth. “We must convince him that we are seri¬ 
ous. Drop a little of the fluid into his left eye. 
The result will prove to him that we mean busi¬ 
ness.” 

A muffled groan came from the man on the cot. 
Ballinger stepped closer to the light, uncorked the 
little vial, cautiously inserted a small syringe through 
the neck, his brows contracting as he pumped the 
requisite amount of fluid into the glass tube. Now 
he set the bottle down, replaced the cork, and with 
the syringe in his hand turned again toward the 
man on the cot. A faint grin hovered about his 
bearded lips, but he had taken only a step in the 
direction of the cot when a sharp command rang 
out: 

“Stop Ballinger!” 

As he spoke, Cole sprang forward and landed a 
vigorous blow with his automatic on the right hand 
of the guard standing nearest to Englebreth. A 
pistol dropped from the man’s limp fingers, and 
with an instantaneous movement Cole picked it up. 


THE ENEMY STRIKES 


3 i 9 


Ballinger jerked up his head, then stopped dead 
in his tracks, facing the cot. The cripple whirled 
round in his swivel chair, a look of utter consterna¬ 
tion flooding his white face as he saw Cole, stand¬ 
ing calmly a foot away, a leveled automatic in 
each hand. The second guard leaped forward, but 
in a moment Cole had him covered. 

“Drop that gun!” he ordered, making an ominous 
gesture with one of his-pistols. “This instant!” 

The man’s jaw sagged, and the weapon dropped 
from his hand. Englebreth, sitting hunched and 
shuddering in his chair, stared at the intruder as if 
he were seeing a specter. 

“You!” he exclaimed in a thin, rasping voice. 
“You-” 

Cole ignored him. His eyes gleamed like points 
of polished steel. “Ballinger,” he said in a very 
calm voice, “I’d rather put a bullet through your 
black heart, but I’m going to give you one chance 
for your life. See how quickly you can cut Doctor 
Latham loose. A little speed may save your life.” 

The syringe fell from Ballinger’s trembling fingers. 
For a moment he hesitated, then a knife appeared 
in his hand, and with surprising speed he slashed 
the cords around Latham’s hands and feet. A little 
dazedly the physician rose from the cot. There 
was a dull, smoldering fever in his eyes as he 
looked at Ballinger. With startling suddenness his 
right hand shot out, landing a vicious blow between 
Ballinger’s eyes. 

“There—I promised you that!” he exclaimed grit- 
tily. “And you!” 

Again his powerful fist darted out, and a splash 



320 


THE UNKNOWN SEVEN 


of crimson spurted from the region of Englebreth’s 
nose. With a sigh of vast content he looked at 
Cole. 

“How in the world did you-” 

“Never mind,” Cole interrupted. “Get Carlin on 
the telephone.” As the physician started to obey, 
his cold, narrowing gaze, swept each face in the 
room. “Ell shoot the moment any one moves or 
makes a sound,” he declared. 

His voice had a ruthless ring, and no one moved. 
Englebreth, breathing raspingly, was wiping the 
blood from his face while he squinted at Cole in 
a dazed way. 

The physician hung up the receiver and stepped 
away from the telephone. 

“I got Carlin out of bed,” he reported. “He 
will be here in a little while, and he will bring 
enough men with him to surround the place. These 
human hyenas will soon be where they belong.” He 
looked about him with a satisfied expression. “I 
hope Carlin won’t treat the speed regulations too 
tenderly. I’m hungry as the deuce.” 

“So am I,” admitted Cole, a trifle absently. The 
throbbing and pulsing of machinery sounded re¬ 
motely in his ears, a muffled hymn of greed and 
gold-maddened dreams, soon to be silenced forever. 
He shrugged, and a look of fretful responsibility 
came into his face. “And there is Toots,” he went 
on. “I’ve been neglecting Toots lately. Latham, 
I’m going to give you a piece of advice, with the 
compliments of The Unknown Seven. Keep shy of 
cats.” 

THE END. 















































AUG 2 


*> 


$23 




































